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STEADFAST 


THE  STORY  OF 


A    SAINT    AND    A    SINNER 


BY 

ROSE   TERRY   COOKE 

AUTHOR  OF 
"  SOMEBODY'S  NEIGHBOR1?, V,    M  THE   SPHINX'S  CHILDREN," 


BOSTON 
TICKNOK  AND    COMPANY 

211  Eremont  Street 

1889 


COPYRIGHT,  1889, 
BY  TJCKNOR  ANp  COMPANY. 

.   V       :'•'  :  - 


.    --  •       •     ,     •'  • 

. 


ELECTKOTYPED  BY 
C.  J.  PETERS  &  SON,  BOSTON, 
U.  S.  A. 


I     OFFER    THIS     BOOK     TO 

r, 


It  is  hers  as  much  as  mine,  for  without  her  beneficent 
powers  it  would  never  have  existed. 

I  cannot  mention  her  name,  for  she  is  too  modest  to 
permit  it  ;  so  I  can  only  write  myself  "  under  the  stars  "  as 

l^cr  Globing  ant!  ©ratrfttl  jFrientJ, 

ROSE   TERRY  COOKE 


941341 


PREFACE. 


IN  sending  out  this  book,  I  am  aware  that  I  shall 
meet  with  some  sharp  criticism  about  the  statements 
made  therein  concerning  the  action  of  a  certain  eccle 
siastical  body.  I  have  only  to  say  that  everything  I 
have  recorded  relating  to  the  acts  of  the  consociation 
of  Congregational  churches  of  "  Newport "  county  is 
strictly  historical  fact ;  that,  as  far  as  -  his  experience 
with  that  consociation  goes,  Philemon  "  Hall "  was  a 
living  man  ;  though  I  have  changed  his  surname,  as 
well  as  the  name  of  the  county. 

I  also  desire  to  express  here  my  obligations  to  the 
history  of  Wallingford,  Connecticut,  by  Dr.  Charles 
H.  S.  Davis,  from  which  I  have  drawn  the  aforesaid 
facts,  and  copied  the  manifestoes  of  the  consociations 
and  Mr.  Hall's  replies. 

ROSE  TERRY  COOKE. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I.  DEATH 11 

II.  LOVE 23 

III.  CONTINUANCE 36 

IV.  CIRCUMSTANCE 47 

V.  HEBE 59 

VI.  CLOUDY * 70 

VII.  CLEAR 80 

VIII.  AT  MIDNIGHT 88 

IX.  AFTER 97 

X.  FRAUD 107 

XI.  DONE 117 

XII.  L'IMPRKVU 126 

XIII.  A  WILL 136 

XIV.  DESPAIR 146 

XV.  A  CHANGE 158 

XVI.  AGAIN 169 

XVII.  REWARD 181 

XVIII.  GRIST 192 

XIX.  DELAY 202 

XX.  JUDGMENT 212 

XXI.  TEMPY'S  TURN 223 

XXII.  COUNSEL 234 

XXIII.  FINALITY 246 

XXIV.  A  CONFLICT 257 

XXV.  DOWNWARD -'f>7 

XXVI.  THE  LAY  SISTEK 278 

9 


10  CONTENTS. 

XXVII.    A  CLIMAX 289 

XXVIII.  THE  CURSE  OF  A  GRANTED  PRAYER    .     .  300 

XXIX.    A  COMPACT 309 

XXX.    DAILY 319 

XXXI.    IN  THE  BEGINNING 329 

XXXII.    A  SURPRISE 339 

XXXIII.  No! 348 

XXXIV.  PATIENCE 358 

XXXV.    A  CONFIDENCE 368 

XXXVI.    THE  WORLD 378 

XXXVII.     MORE 389 

XXXVIII.    AT  LAST 399 

XXXIX.     NOT  DESTROYED 409 

XXXX.  LIFE    ,                                                             ,  418 


STEADFAST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

DEATH. 

Whereunto  is  money  good  ? 
"Who  has  it  not  wants  hardihood. 

"  0  MOTHEK  !  "  said  Esther  Dennis,  looking  at  the 
bowed  head,  clenched  hands,  and  quivering  figure  that 
sat  crouched  in  an  old  flag-bottomed  rocker  by  the 
dying  kitchen  fire ;  a  black  bombazine  bonnet,  evi 
dently  new,  poked  over  the  face  in  a  distracted  fash 
ion  ;  a  limpsy  crape  veil,  by  no  means  new,  dragging 
on  the  floor,  and  a  gown  and  cloak  like  the  bonnet, 
draping  the  slight  shape  of  a  woman  whose  heart 
was  not  only  broken,  but  just  buried  with  her  dead 
husband.  She  did  not  answer  Esther ;  sob  after  sob 
burst  slowly  from  her  dry  lips  as  if  wrenched  upward 
by  some  pressure  no  longer  endurable,  though  long 
resisted. 

Mrs.  Dennis  had  preserved  unbroken  silence  through 
that  weary  and  dreary  funeral  service  in  house  and 
church ;  she  sat  like  a  stone  through  the  long  ser 
mon  in  which  Priest  Beach  detailed  her  loss  and  be 
moaned  her  sufferings  in  a  way  to  exasperate  any 
creature  not  brought  up  in  the  reticence  and  self-con- 

11 


12  STEADFAST. 

trol  of  her  place  and  time  ;  the  long  wailing  minor 
of  the  doleful  hymns  that  went  shrieking  about  the 
cold  bare  meeting-house  like  orthodox  Banshees,  did 
not  move  one  rigid  muscle  of  her  pale,  delicate  face, 
or  moisten  the  long  eyelashes  that  drooped  on  her 
cheek,  and  the  mitigated  tenderness  of  the  almost 
interminable  prayer  never  caused  a  quiver  on  her  set 
white  lips.  She  walked  to  the  graveyard,  only  a  few 
rods  from  the  meeting-house,  clutching  Esther's  arm 
as  a  drowning  man  clutches  a  plank ;  she  saw  the 
cold  shape,  whose  arms  had  upheld  her  so  many  years, 
whose  eyes  had  smiled  at  her  in  all  her  sorrows,  whose 
lips  had  kissed  her  at  the  altar,  and  on  the  edge  of 
death,  uncovered  in  its  dead  unanswering  terror  for 
the  neighbors  and  friends  to  see  once  more ;  and  then 
she  saw  it  lowered  into  its  kindred  clay,  forever 
hidden  from  her  sight,  without  one  sigh  or  tear.  But 
now,  when  all  the  funeral  company  were  gone,  when 
the  decencies  and  conventions  riled  away  from  her 
door  and  left  her  alone  with  her  only  child,  nature 
revenged  itself  on  propriety ;  all  its  waves  and  bil 
lows  went  over  her;  a  positive  convulsion  of  grief 
racked  her  delicate  physical  constitution,  and  despair, 
black  as  death,  settled  on  her  timid  soul. 

"Mother!"  sobbed  Esther  in  despair,  kneeling 
down  by  the  poor  woman  and  leaning  her  head  against 
the  chair.  "  Mother  !  don't !  oh,  don't ;  oh,  what  shall 
I  do  ?  Mother  !  ain't  he  happy  ?  " 

If  she  had  seen  the  thought  that  answered  her,  she 
would  have  recoiled  ;  it  was  the  outcry  of  bereft  love, 


DEATH.  13 

of  breaking  life.  "  What  of  that  ?  am  /  not  misera 
ble  ?  "  but  the  poor  woman  had  been  trained  in  rigid 
obedience  to  her  duty  ;  her  lips  parted,  she  gasped 
out,  "  Oh  yes,  yes  !  I  ought  to  submit,  Esther  !  It's 
all  right ;  it's  all  right."  Yet  the  heart  within  her 
tolled  back,  "  It's  all  wrong ;  all  wrong ;  all  wrong  !  " 
Poor  enough  were  the  surroundings  of  this  homely, 
everyday  tragedy ;  nothing  more  than  the  old  furniture 
of  a  kitchen  in  a  New  England  farmhouse  of  the  last 
century.  A  cross-legged  table  stood  against  the  wall ; 
three  or  four  spindle-backed  wooden-bottomed  chairs 
were  ranged  formally  about  the  room,  a  high  settle 
and  the  wainscoting  of  the  wall  were  painted  alike 
a  livid  leaden  blue  ;  a  tall  clock  stood  in  one  corner 
and  swung  its  pendulum  to  and  fro  with  relentless 
accuracy,  passing  and  repassing  its  ornamented  and 
glazed  hole  in  the  clock  door,  as  if  to  impress  its  duti 
ful  life  on  the  sight  as  well  as  hearing  of  its  house 
mates  ;  there  was  an  open  fireplace  in  which  swung  a 
crane  ;  pothooks  and  trammels  hung  from  nails  in 
the  chimney  corners ;  a  half-burned  stick  of  wood 
just  uncovered  from  the  ashes  simmered  now  on  the 
iron  firedogs ;  the  high  shelf  above  held  sundry 
kitchen  utensils,  flatirons,  brass  and  tin  candlesticks, 
a  tinder-box,  a  horn  lantern,  a  Farmer's  Almanac  ;  on 
one  side  of  the  fire  stood  a  bake-kettle  and  a  four- 
legged  pot ;  by  the  south  window  a  flax  wheel  stood 
at  rest ;  a  small  cherry  table  with  two  leaves,  and  a 
corner  cupboard,  with  a  smaller  one  in  the  wall  above 
the  shelf,  completed  the  belongings  of  the  dingy  little 


14  STEADFAST. 

room  used  as  living-room  and  kitchen  at  this  season, 
and  dull  enough  now  that  no  sunshine  came  through 
its  green-pane d  windows,  but  only  the  gathering  gloom 
of  a  dark  November  storm. 

Esther  Dennis  was  not  demonstrative ;  she  had  said 
all  she  could ;  she  too  loved  her  father,  with  the  hon 
est,  but  not  inconsolable  affection  a  young  girl  has  for 
a  silent  busy  father,  whom  she  seldom  sees,  but  she 
had  no  sort  of  idea  what  this  loss  was  to  her  mother ; 
she  could  not  fathom  or  understand  a  sorrow  that 
shook  that  ordinarily  bright,  gentle,  and  unselfish 
nature  into  such  a  rebellious  passion  of  wild  grief. 
She  had  not  been  taught  or  even  allowed  to  learn  the 
sweet  tongue  of  caresses  and  coaxing ;  it  never 
occurred  to  her  to  put  her  arms  about  her  mother,  to 
kiss  the  agonized  face,  to  smooth  the  ruffled  hair,  to 
take  away  the  heavy  insignia  of  mourning  and  per 
suade  the  shaken  woman  to  lie  down,  as  a  girl  of  this 
day  would  have  done ;  she  had  ventured  as  far  as  she 
could;  a  certain  sense  of  propriety  in  her  soul,  of 
respect  for  religion  and  the  eternal  fitness  of  things, 
had  been  appeased  by  her  mother's  admission  that  all 
this  sorrow  was  "  right,"  or  as  she  dared  only  to 
faintly  guess,  not  to  formulate  the  thought,  God  had 
not  done  wrong  in  removing  from  these  two  women 
the  centre  and  support  of  their  lives.  There  comes  a 
time  to  most  of  us,  if  we  ourselves  live  long  enough, 
when  we  can  see  that  the  death  we  most  resented  and 
wept  was  the  best  thing  possible  to  be  ordained  when 
and  where  it  was,  both  for  the  dead  and  the  living ; 


DEATH.  15 

but  it  takes  years  of  grief  and  pain  —  why  should  I 
not  say  of  life  ?  —  to  teach  us  this  lesson ;  it  could 
not  be  expected  to  pour  its  awful  consolation  into 
these  newly  stricken  souls. 

Esther  got  up  from  her  position  by  her  mother,  feel 
ing  that  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said ;  instinct 
ively  she  turned  and  looked  at  the  clock;  as  if  it 
answered  her,  it  immediately  struck  five,  and  in  habit 
ual  obedience  to  that  summons,  she  went  into  the  shed 
for  kindling  wood,  started  the  fire  afresh,  filled  and 
hung  on  the  tea-kettle,  brought  bread  and  butter  from 
the  swinging  shelf  in  the  cellar,  milk  from  the  pantry, 
made  her  tea  as  soon  as  the  kettle  boiled,  raked  out 
some  roasted  potatoes  from  the  ashes  in  the  chimney 
corner,  brushing  them  clean  with  a  turkey's  wing  from 
one  of  the  small  closets,  and  set  the  frugal  supper  on 
one  leaf  of  the  round  table  previously  laid  with  a 
homespun  linen  cloth.  By  the  time  this  was  done, 
her  mother  had  recovered  self-control  enough  to  rise 
from  her  chair,  take  off  her  outer  garments,  cool  her 
hot  eyes  at  the  sink  in  the  shed,  where  a  pipe  supplied 
them  with  living  water  from  a  mountain  spring,  and 
make  her  scanty  hair  smooth  and  decent.  Mrs. 
Dennis  was  swayed  by  long  habit  in  all  she  did ;  she 
would  not  have  thought,  even  in  her  despair,  of  com 
ing  to  supper  with  ruffled  locks  or  weeping  eyes ;  she 
did  not  even  know,  consciously,  that  she  was  going 
through  that  routine,  all  she  did  know  was  that  it  was 
tea  time,  that  food  was  on  the  table,  and  that  she  must 
sit  down  to  it.  The  tea  was  made  of  sage  leaves,  the 


16  STEADFAST. 

bread  of  rye  flour,  but  the  mere  effort  to  eat  and  drink 
was  of  service  to  this  disconsolate  woman,  whose  only 
real  wish  was  to  die  and  go  to  her  husband.  How 
ever  the  hot  drink  warmed  her  chilly  blood,  and  the 
homely  sweetness  of  the  food  rekindled  her  flickering 
vitality  and  set  her  back  into  her  orbit ;  she  was  too 
honest  and  unconscious  to  feel  anything  but  relief  at 
the  scanty  cheer  that  food  and  fire  brought  to  her; 
the  very  leap  and  crackle  of  the  blaze  had  a  sound  of 
comfort  in  it,  and  the  song  of  the  kettle  as  it  piped 
away  on  the  shortened  hook,  where  it  kept  hot  for 
the  dish  washing,  had  a  customary  familiarity  about 
it  that  soothed  her.  It  was  not  till  everything  was 
restored  in  spotless  cleanliness  to  its  usual  order,  the 
one  candle  lighted,  the  fire  replenished,  and  the  wild 
November  wind  rose,  yelling  in  the  spout  of  the  shed 
roof  like  a  lost  spirit,  that  her  grief  faced  her,  not 
now  with  the  chaotic  aspect  of  despair,  but  in  its 
everyday  practical  bearings. 

Doctor  Dennis  had  been  the  only  physician  in  Plain- 
field  for  years ;  night  and  day  his  shabby  gig  and  raw- 
boned  horse  had  traversed  this  hilly  country  to  bring 
relief  or  healing;  his  work  had  been  the  work  of  a 
country  doctor,  the  hardest,  most  unremitting,  worst- 
paid  work  in  the  world,  but  he  had  been  faithful  to 
his  calling.  That  grave,  kindly  face  had  stood  beside 
many  a  dying  man  and  woman,  that  steady,  cheerful 
voice  had  brought  words  of  hope  to  many  an  anxious 
soul,  and  when  a  sudden  and  sharp  fever,  the  result 
of  overwork  and  constant  exposure  to  the  treacherous 


DEATH.  17 

and  exasperating  New  England  weather,  carried  him 
out  of  this  life  spent  in  alleviating  and  restoring  the 
lives  of  others,  he  was  mourned  wherever  he  was 
known. 

But  his  books  were  sadly  in  arrears ;  many  a  poor 
creature  never  figured  on  those  red-lined  pages,  though 
he  had  provided  medicine  as  well  as  counsel  for  them, 
sometimes  for  year  after  year ;  others  had  paid  him 
in  produce,  apples,  potatoes,  poultry,  hay,  all  consumed 
as  they  came  in,  when  their  value  in  money  could  and 
would  have  been  far  more  useful  and  more  economi 
cally  disposed  of  than  these  supplies.  Here  and 
there  a  bill  was  paid  in  cash,  but  daily  necessities 
had  forestalled  all  such  payments  always,  and  they 
were  few  and  far  between,  for  Plainfield  was  a  farm 
ing  town,  and  farming  in  New  England  was  then  but 
a  delusion  and  a  snare ;  it  could  be  summed  up  in  the 
epigrammatic  sentence  of  Triptolemus  Yellowley, 
concerning  agriculture  in  the  Shetland  Isles  :  "  The 
carles  and  the  cart-avers  make  it  all,  and  the  carles 
and  the  cart-avers  take  it  all ! " 

What  scant  food  the  iron-bound  and  rock-ribbed 
country  yielded  to  the  demands  of  incessant  and 
severe  labor  was  consumed  by  the  laborer ;  there  was 
but  a  living,  and  a  squalid  living,  to  be  wrung  from 
the  thin  dry  soil  that  clothes  our  beautiful  hills,  and 
the  tiny,  alluvions  of  the  brooks  that  rush  madly 
from  their  mountain  springs  to  the  one  great  river ; 
true,  the  grass  was  sweet,  but  the  milk  was  scanty, 
and  if  rye  grew  up  to  the  very  edge  of  sharp  granite 


18  STEADFAST. 

ledges,  it  was  never  luxuriant  enough  to  supply  the 
full  demand  for  it.  Wheat  was  a  rare  luxury ;  pota 
toes  indeed  grew  as  they  always  grow  on  newly  up 
turned  ground,  abundantly,  and  of  good  quality,  and 
orchards  were  lavish  of  their  spicy  fruit,  but  all  these 
things  did  not  mean  or  make  money;  these  hills 
raised  men,  not  crops,  and  when  Doctor  Dennis  died, 
there  was  left  for  his  wife  and  child  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  in  a  pigeon-hole  of  his  desk,  two  or  three 
medical  books,  a  few  poor  old  implements  of  surgery, 
and  the  small  brown  farmhouse  with  its  garden  and 
orchard  under  the  ledge  of  Pine  Hill ;  that  was  all. 
He  had  no  debts,  and  funeral  expenses  were  light 
enough  in  Plainfield.  Through  the  doctor's  illness 
the  neighbors  had  sent  in  good  store  of  food,  to 
express  sympathy  and  save  the  two  women  from  any 
trouble  of  cookery,  so  that  they  might  devote  them 
selves  to  the  sick  man.  There  was  at  least  two  weeks' 
provision  in  the  house ;  three  barrels  of  potatoes  and 
four  of  apples  in  the  cellar,  a  bushel  of  white  beans, 
a  keg  of  pork,  a  half  barrel  of  flour  also  in  the  pan 
try,  and  the  neighbor  who  supplied  them  with  milk 
and  butter  had  by  no  means  paid  up  her  bill  to  Doctor 
Dennis  yet,  but  after  this  ?  — 

"  I  don't  know,  Esther,  what  upon  earth  we  shall 
do,"  said  the  widow,  after  a  little  preliminary  talk, 
and  taking  of  stock  with  the  aforesaid  results. 

"  I  don't  see  where  our  livin'  is  to  come  from.  You 
a'n't  old  enough  nor  eddicated  enough  to  teach,  and 
if  you  was  we  haven't  got  but  one  school  in  the  town- 


DEATH.  19 

ship,  and  that's  two  mile  off.  I  can't  do  anything  hut 
take  care  of  a  house,  and  knit  and  sew.  I  shall  be 
able  to  do  that  quite  a  spell,  but  the  outlook's  pretty 
dark,  pretty  dark." 

"  A'n't  there  any  bills  coming  in  at  all,  mother  ?  " 
asked  Esther. 

"  I  presume  there  may  be  ;  I  presume  likely  we  can 
collect  as  much  as  ten  dollars  more'n  is  down  on  the 
books.  There's  Squire  Pettigrew  had  typhus  fever 
you  know,  two  months  back;  I  don't  see  as  he  is 
paid  up  yet ;  and  Lawyer  Green's  wife  had  a  spell  of 
rheumatiz,  that  ain't  charged  for,  but  that  is  skerce 
enough  to  be  much  help."  Esther  leaned  her  head  on 
her  hand  and  looked  into  the  fire.  She  was  sixteen 
years  old,  a  tall,  thin  girl,  only  saved  from  being  angu 
lar  by  her  small  bones,  which,  even  ill  covered  as  they 
were,  showed  no  obtrusive  joints  or  coarse  outlines. 
Her  noble  head  and  slender  throat,  her  dark  pensive 
eyes,  sensitive  mouth,  and  rich  abundance  of  dark 
hair,  brown  hair  with  red  lights  in  it,  gave  her  a  cer 
tain  distinction  of  aspect  that  lasts  and  attracts 
longer  than  positive  beauty,  if  it  is  not  so  bewilder 
ing  and  gracious.  She  was  yet  a  child  in  directness, 
unworldliness,  and  the  undreaming  sleep  of  passion 
within  her ;  she  loved  nobody  but  her  parents,  for  she 
knew  no  one  else ;  there  were  no  young  men  in 
Plainville,  even  in  the  Centre,  as  the  nucleus  of  the 
village  was  called,  except  a  clerk  in  the  "  store,"  and 
an  hostler  at  the  tavern ;  such  boys  as  had  grown  up 
there  had  naturally  gone  out  into  the  world  to  seek 


20  STEADFAST. 

the  fortunes  their  fathers  had  never  found  on  those 
barren  hills,  and  as  this  girl  had  never  read  either 
novels  or  poetry,  she  was  still  only  a  girl,  only  a  child. 

But  suddenly  an  idea  came  to  her  as  she  stared  into 
the  red  coals. 

"  Mother  ! "  she  said,  starting  up.  "  Haven't  you 
got  an  uncle  somewheres  down  by  the  shore  ?  " 

"Why,  yes.  Uncle  Dyer  lives  down  to  Trumbull; 
he  always  has  lived  there  since  he  married  Squire 
Kent's  daughter." 

"  Well ;  he's  your  own  uncle,  ain't  he  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  ;  he  was  mother's  brother  ;  all  the  kith 
and  kin,  near  to,  that  she  had.  I  used  to  see  him 
quite  frequenfwhen  I  was  a  child,  for  our  folks  lived 
next  door ;  but  when  I  was  eight  years  old,  he  went  to 
Trumbull  to  live,  and  we  skercely  ever  saw  him ;  not 
once  after  he  married  Judge  Kent's  daughter,  for  she 
had  means,  and  he  went  into  the  West  Indy  trade, 
and  what  travellin'  he  did  do,  was  done  to  York,  and 
sometimes  a  voyage  to  Jamaica.  Then  mother  died, 
and  father  he  didn't  live  a  year  after  I  married,  and 
moved  up  here  to  live,  so  I  expect  I  sort  of  slipped 
Uncle  Dyer's  memory,  though  I'm  all  the  niece  he 
ever  had." 

"  Well,  mother,  can't  you  write  to  him  and  ask  if 
he  can't  find  some  work  for  us  ?  I  expect  there  must 
be  more  to  do  where  there  is  more  people,  and  Trum 
bull  is  quite  a  sizeable  place  I've  heard." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  Esther.  I  don't  know  as  I  darst ;  poor 
folks  want  a  welcome  everywhere,  Grandsir  Starks 


DEATH.  21 

used  to  say.  Seems  to  me  I  haven't  got  a  mite  of 
courage  left.  Father  dead,  and  we  comin'  to  want ; 
why,  it  seems  as  though  I  couldn't  anyway  have  it  so. 
I  don't  know  which  way  to  turn." 

"  You're  awful  tired,  mother ;  that's  what  ails  you. 
You  wouldn't  be  so  scary  if  you  wa'nt.  Why  there's 
lots  of  poor  folks  in  the  world  that  live  somehow ;  and 
why  shouldn't  we  ?  I  guess  you  had  better  go  to 
bed  ;  I'll  fetch  down  the  cot,  and  set  it  right  here  by 
your  door,  so's  you  won't  be  lonesome,  and  I  guess  by 
time  it's  morning,  you'll  take  heart  some,  and  think 
it's  a  good  plan  to  write  to  Uncle  Dyer." 

This  ignorant,  girlish  courage  somewhat  reassured 
the  timid  woman  who  had  lost  heart,  and  lost  all 
thereby ;  she  went  to  bed,  and  at  last  to  sleep ;  wak 
ing  at  early  dawn  with  that  dim  frightful  sense  of 
lurking  trouble,  of  fatal  loss,  that  the  outwearied  soul 
cannot  at  once  grasp  with  the  scarce  awakened  senses, 
but  that  comes  fully  in  sight  at  last,  and,  like  an 
armed  man,  despoils  the  mourner  of  the  sole  good  life 
has  left  him,  —  a  temporary  unconsciousness,  a  brief 
forgetting,  —  and  arouses  with  the  pang  of  its  first 
fresh  bitterness  the  agony  we  must  needs  accept 
anew. 

It  was  with  difficulty  Esther  made  her  mother  try, 
at  least,  to  take  food  to-day ;  she  no  longer  felt  the 
faintness  of  exhaustion  that  urged  her  to  eat,  but  at 
length  that  sense  of  duty  in  which  her  life  had  been 
moulded  came  to  her  aid ;  she  took  a  cup  of  rye  coffee, 
a  decoction  calculated  to  divert  any  sort  of  thought 


22  STEADFAST. 

from  the  unaccustomed  taste,  but  which  afforded  no 
diversion  of  feeling  to  her,  used  as  she  was  to  its  bit 
terness  and  flat  flavor :  and,  encouraged  by  the  reso 
lution  her  mother  showed,  Esther  began  again  to  talk 
.  of  her  idea  about  Uncle  Dyer. 

"Well,  Esther,  if  it's  best,  and  I  don't  know  but 
what  'tis  best,  I  will  write  to  him.  I  presume  likely 
there  would  be  more  openings  for  them  that  want 
work  down  there  than  there  is  here  amongst  the 
mountains ;  anyway,  I  should  like  a  change ;  I  can't 
feel  but  what  father's  comin'  in  to  the  door  every 
minute ;  and  then  it  comes  home  to  me  that  he  won't 
never  step  in  any  more,  and  seems  as  though  I  should 
give  up !  If  it's  so  to  be  that  you  and  me  can  earn  a 
living  down  to  Trumbull,  why  I  shall  learn  to  sense 
it  better  that  father's  gone  for  good,  and  it  won't  stir 
me  up  so.  I  do  strive  to  be  real  resigned,  but  seems 
as  though  I'd  got  to  have  something  else  to  think  of 
but  what's  always  been  here  and  ain't  here  no  more, 
before  I  can  really  feel  to  say,  the  will  o'  the  Lord  be 
done.  Yes.  I'll  write  to  Uncle  Dyer  to-night." 


CHAPTEE  II. 

LOVE 

Smote  the  chord  of  Self,  that,  trembling, 
Passed  in  music  out  of  sight. 

FIVE  years  before  this  day  of  loss  to  the  Dennis 
family,  Eachel  Mather,  an  orphan  girl  in  Deerfield, 
had  married  Philemon  Hall,  a  young  minister  to  whom 
she  had  been  engaged  for  five  years. 

There  is  nothing  strange  in  so  long  an  engagement, 
when  the  young  man  has  to  wait  for  his  education 
and  settlement,  but  yet  this  marriage  made  an  unusual 
stir  and  talk  in  Deerfield.  Eachel  was  poor,  as  well  as 
an  orphan,  and  had  lived  from  her  tenth  year  in  the 
house  of  her  aunt,  the  Widow  Peek  ;  but  her  beauty 
and  her  sweetness  of  temper  would  have  excused  any 
man  in  those  primitive  days  for  loving  and  marrying 
her,  had  it  been  the  governor  of  the  State  himself. 
She  had  more  than  one  lover,  but  only  one  love,  and 
that  was  Philemon  Hall.  She  had  been  his  sweet 
heart  from  the  days  when  they  trudged  up  to  the 
Eock  Corner  schoolhouse  hand  in  hand ;  and  when  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  become  a  minister,  and  asked 
Eachel  if  she  would  wait  for  him,  it  seemed  to  her  as 
if  a  sudden  glory  out  of  heaven  had  fallen  upon  her. 

She  had  a  hard  life  in  her  aunt's  house  ;  four  little 
children  and  but  a  small  amount  of  money  were  Mrs. 

23 


24  STEADFAST. 

Peek's  portion  in  this  world,  and  she  was  a  hard-na- 
tured,  energetic  woman,  not  inclined  to  indulge  her 
self  in  laziness,  or  anybody  else.  Rachel  was  up 
before  dawn  and  kept  at  her  tasks  till  night.  If 
candles  had  not  been  a  luxury,  even  night  would  not 
have  been  spared  to  her.  In  winter  a  roaring  fire  of 
pine  and  hickory  gave  her  light  enough  to  spin  by, 
but  when  a  fire  was  no  longer  needed  she  could  sit  out 
on  the  doorstep,  sometimes  with  Philemon  beside  her, 
and  find  in  the  fragrant  breath  of  field  and  forest,  the 
cries  of  young  birds  in  their  nest,  the  soft  whisper  of 
summer  winds  in  the  leaves,  and  the  consciousness  of 
a  dear  presence  beside  her,  such  a  rest  and  refresh 
ment  as  helped  her  to  possess  her  soul  in  patience 
through  the  days  of  loveless  and  exhausting  toil  that 
were  her  lot.  Day  by  day  she  seemed  to  grow  love 
lier  ;  her  figure  was  slight  and  angular,  there  was  no 
grace  in  its  movement,  no  rounded  outlines,  no  dim 
ples;  her  chest  was  flat  and  narrow,  her  shoulders 
square,  but  her  head  was  the  head  of  a  Greek  statue, 
the  straight  features,  the  calm  full  lips,  the  low  up 
right  forehead  and  level  brows,  all  illuminated  by 
great  blue  eyes  with  thick  golden  lashes,  and  a  wealth 
of  pale  gold  hair  waving,  coiling,  clinging  about  her 
beautiful  head  in  classic  fashion,  as  rare  as  lovely. 
Her  skin  was  pale,  but  its  colorless  glow  was  the  tint 
of  health,  and  any  sudden  emotion  flushed  it  with  the 
very  pink  of  a  wild  rose,  as  fair  and  as  fleeting  as 
that  most  delicate  blossom. 

Aunt  Peek  was  furious  when,  before  Philemon  left 


LOVE.  25 

Deerfield  to  study  theology  witL  Father  Niles  in  New 
Haven,  he  avowed  his  engagement  to  Rachel.  It 
seemed  as  if  for  the  next  four  years  she  set  herself  to 
work  to  devise  fresh  toils  for  the  poor  girl  daily,  toils 
whose  only  respite  was  the  brief  annual  visit  of  her 
lover,  who  after  a  good  old  fashion  spent  his  vacations 
teaching  school,  in  order  to  help  defray  the  expense 
of  his  own  education.  But  Rachel  worked  in  hope, 
and  therefore  uncomplainingly,  undergoing  a  disci 
pline  she  was  soon  to  need.  Mrs.  Peek  did  not  hesi 
tate  to  express  her  feelings  openly  as  the  time  for 
Philemon's  return  drew  near. 

"It's  everlastin'  hard,"  she  confided  to  a  neighbor 
at  an  apple-bee.  "  I've  fetched  her  up  sence  her  folks 
died ;  I've  gin  her  fair  schooling  board,  lodgin',  an' 
clo thin',  —  and  jest  as  she's  gettin'  real  useful,  she's  got 
to  up  and  get  married.  Seems  as  thougk  she  had 
ought  to  hev  thought  some  of  me." 

"  Couldn't  ha'  done  no  more  'ef  she'd  been  your  own 
daughter,"  dryly  answered  Mrs.  Allen. 

The  Widow  Peek  stared ;  like  many  other  people, 
she  had  looked  so  intently  on  her  own  side  of  the 
matter  that  there  seemed  no  other  view  possible  to 
take,  no  other  interest  concerned  in  it. 

The  next  day  it  happened  to  be  Rachel's  duty,  after 
baking  and  ironing,  to  spread  out  a  whole  piece  of 
homespun  linen  on  the  grass  to  bleach,  and  every 
hour  or  two  to  wet  it  thoroughly ;  the  heat  of  the  In 
dian  summer  day  was  unusual  and  intense ;  the  girl 
was  worn  out  with  her  work  in  the  hot  kitchen,  and 


26  STEADFAST. 

about  four  o'clock  one  of  those  autumnal  thunder 
storms  set  in  that  are  so  furious  and  so  sudden.  Oc 
cupied  with  her  duties,  she  had  not  stepped  out  of 
doors  since  last  she  sprinkled  the  lengths  of  cloth 
lying  across  the  sward  of  the  home  lot,  but  she  was 
startled  by  a  rapid  darkness  in  the  air,  and  looking 
out  at  the  door  she  saw  the  black  curtain  of  the  storm 
coming  over  the  mountain  fast  and  furious,  and  a 
heavy  rattling  peal  of  thunder  told  how  near  its  van 
guard  hung ;  without  stopping  even  for  her  sun-bon 
net,  she  ran  for  the  linen ;  it  must  be  brought  in  or 
the  heavy  rains  would  beat  it  into  the  grass  and  stain 
it,  the  wind  tear  it  up  and  away,  or,  possibly,  sharp 
assaults  of  hail  riddle  it.  But  the  storm  was  swifter 
than  her  flying  steps;  before  she  could  fold  those 
lengths  of  solid  linen,  it  was  doubly  weighty  with 
water,  and  she  herself  drenched  to  the  skin.  Hold 
ing  it  up  in  her  slender  arms,  blinded  by  the  light 
ning  and  dazed  by  the  loud  thunder,  she  stumbled  and 
groped  slowly  back  to  the  house  and  then  set  herself, 
with  no  consideration  for  her  own  condition,  to  wring 
ing  the  soaked  cloth  till  it  was  dry  again,  or  at  least 
fit  to  hang  before  the  fire,  and  not  drip  on  the  clean 
floor.  Kegardless  of  herself  still,  and  afraid  lest  her 
aunt  should  come  back  to  find  the  work  of  the,  day 
undone,  she  finished  the  last  few  bits  of  her  ironing, 
hurried  up  into  the  shed  loft  to  turn  the  heavy  cheeses, 
and  by  that  time  the  shower  had  passed  over,  and  she 
must  go  to  pasture  after  the  cow,  milk  her,  give  her 
water,  and  then  get  supper. 


LOVE.  27 

Mrs.  Peek  and  all  her  children  had  gone  nutting  in 
some  distant  woods  that  day,  and  they  were  sure  to 
come  back  hungry,  and  expect  Eachel  to  take  back  the 
neighbor's  horse  and  wagon  they  had  borrowed  ;  so  it 
came  about  that  her  wet  clothes  were  not  changed  till, 
as  soon  as  darkness  put  an  end  to  labor,  she  crept  up 
stairs  to  the  "  garret-chamber  "  where  she  slept,  and, 
aching  in  every  fibre  lay  down  to  sleep  if  she  could. 

But  people  on  the  rack  do  not  sleep  :  Kachel  could 
not  even  rise  when  the  dawn  came  ;  she  was  helpless 
as  a  man  fettered  to  his  dungeon  wall. 

Her  aunt  scolded  and  fretted,  but  was  forced  for 
her  own  sake  to  fetch  the  doctor,  and  he  shook  his 
wise  old  head ;  it  was  rheumatic  fever,  no  one  could 
tell  how  long  it  might  last,  or  in  what  condition  leave 
the  patient.  It  is  idle  to  detail  her  long  and  weary 
sufferings  :  ill  with  the  most  agonizing  of  diseases ; 
one  that  demands  careful  handling,  exquisite  nursing, 
warmth,  nourishment,  cheer ;  Eachel  had  not  one  of 
these  necessities ;  her  room  was  colder  even  than  the 
barn,  for  that  at  least  had  a  deep  lining  of  hay,  but 
her  roof  was  leaky  and  old,  snows  drifted  on  her  bed, 
and  rain  beat  in  at  the  dormer  window,  dripping  in  a 
pool  to  the  floor  beneath ;  her  food  was  scanty  and 
grudgingly  doled  out  to  her ;  and  such  nursing  as  she 
got  was  occasional  voluntary  service  from  the  neigh 
bors  ;  when  spring  at  last  came,  the  old  doctor  said, 
sadly  and  unwillingly  enough,  that  there  was  no  hope 
for  her,  not  even  the  hope  of  dying ;  she  must  live  a 
bedridden  cripple  so  long  as  life  remained  to  her. 


28  STEADFAST. 

Mrs.  Peek  was  furious ;  she  had  no  pity  at  all  for  this 
young  life  brought  to  so  terrible;  a  stand  in  the  midst 
of  its  bloom  and  promise ;  she  considered  this  a  per 
sonal  injury  done  to  herself,  and  never  wearied  of  as 
suring  Rachel  that  just  as  soon  as  the  roads  settled 
she  should  "  cart  her  off  to  the  town-house  "  a  threat 
she  was  only  too  likely  to  fulfil.  But,  in  her  heavy 
trouble,  Eachel  had  learned  where  the  one  consola 
tion  of  loss  can  be  found;  educated  in  the  Puritan 
strictness  of  the  time,  she  had  learned  chapter  after 
chapter  of  the  Bible,  by  heart,  and  almost  all  the 
hymn-book ;  and  now  that  her  wandering  mind, 
shaken  first  by  physical  and  then  by  mental  torture, 
began  to  grasp  the  situation,  and  try,  with  that  won 
derful  instinct  the  mind  has,  to  adapt  itself  to  its 
surroundings,  she  betook  herself  to  such  prayer  as 
only  the  despairing  can  offer ;  it  seemed  to  her  that 
her  strong  pleadings  laid  hold  on  heaven ;  for  in  the 
very  anguish  of  the  flesh  the  gracious  words  of  the 
Father,  the  pitiful  and  tender  promises  of  the  Son 
fell  upon  her  like  dew  upon  the  parched  ground  and 
gave  her  strength  to  endure  j  that  strength  so  hard  to 
attain. 

While  she  lay  ill  in  her  garret,  Philemon  had  more 
than  once  written  her  ;  but  the  epistles  had  been 
thrown  on  the  fire  by  Aunt  Peek,  who  had  no  time  to 
read  them  either  to  herself  or  Rachel,  and  neither 
wish  nor  ability  to  answer  them. 

But  those  were  days  of  heavy  postage,  and  weekly 
mails,  sometimes  lost  from  the  boot  of  the  stage  that 


LOVE.  29 

carried  them,  swept  out  in  the  fording  of  a  swollen 
river,  or  dropped  by  the  breakage  of  a  strap  on  some 
lonely  mountain  road.  Philemon  did  not  wonder  that 
his  epistles  were  not  answered ;  his  character  was 
generous,  confiding,  unselfish,  and  just  by  nature  ;  and 
his  earnest  religious  faith  had  but  confirmed  these 
traits,  reformed  his  native  obstinacy  into  persever 
ance,  and  controlled  to  an  imprisoned  and  safe  motive 
force  that  strong,  high  temper  which  might  otherwise 
have  desolated  his  life  and  the  lives  of  those  most 
dear  to  him.  He  never  had  a  doubt  of  Rachel's  affec 
tion,  and  the  one  refreshment  of  his  heart  through 
this,  his  last  winter  of  theological  grubbing,  was  the 
prospect  of  his  return  to  Deerfield  and  to  her,  in  the 
coming  spring. 

To  her,  the  thought  of  seeing  him  again  was  ex 
quisitely  painful ;  she  knew  that  her  life  was  set 
apart  from  all  the  ties  that  help  women  to  live  and  be 
helpful ;  she  knew  just  how  hard  it  would  be  for 
Philemon  to  give  her  up ;  and,  in  her  pure  pity  and 
love,  wept  bitterer  tears  for  him  than  ever  she  shed 
for  her  own  wreck  of  hope  and  health;  she  tried 
every  day,  fortified  by  prayer  and  the  remembered 
word  of  Scripture,  to  look  forward  and  realize  in  her 
imagination  the  long  future  of  poverty,  solitude,  and 
pain  in  store  for  her ;  she  did  not  yet  know  that  the 
daily  manna  of  the  wanderers  in  the  desert  was  but  a 
type  of  the  bread  wherewith  God  feeds  our  hungry 
souls,  a  provision  only  given  with  the  hour  of  need  j 
and  she  wondered  sorrowfully  why  she  could  not 


30  STEADFAST. 

gather  courage  to  accept  the  life  ordained  for  her, 
though  not  yet  visited  upon  her  as  a  fulfilled  terror. 

At  last  Philemon  came  back  to  Deerfield  ;  it  was  a 
sunny  April  day;  the  season  was  early,  and  Aunt 
Peek  had  said  to  her  oldest  girl  that  very  morning, 

"The  roads  is  most  settled;  I  must  go  up  to  the 
poorhouse  an'  tell  Simonses  folks  to  fix  up  one  o' 
them  rooms,  below  stairs  for  Eachel,  for  I  shall  jest 
git  rid  of  her  as  soon  as  ever  the  turnpike's  got  so  a 
cart  can  be  driv'  over  it.  I'm  most  tuckered  out  with 
fetchin'  an  carryin' ;  its  nigh  about  noonspell  now, 
Mary  Ann,  you  carry  up  her  gruel,  it's  warm  enough ; 
I  dono  but  what  it's  smoked  a  mite,  but  beggars 
mustn't  be  choosers." 

Hard  indeed  and  rough  of  speech  was  KachePs  un 
willing  hostess;  yet  would  the  blade  have  cut  less 
deep  had  it  been  inlaid  and  polished  steel  ?  You  can 
answer,  poor  and  pitiable  sisterhood,  who  live  by  suf 
ferance  in  houses  where  your  richer  brothers  and  sis 
ters  endure  you  as  a  necessary  evil ;  where  you  wear 
your  lives  out  in  thankless  service,  scantily  rewarded, 
"  traversing  another  man's  stairs  "  in  lifelong  humili 
ation,  and  abject  acceptance  of  such  a  fate.  Why 
have  you  not  the  courage  to  go  out  boldly  and  earn 
your  bread  in  some  honest  calling  for  a  just  wage  ? 
Why  cannot  you  break  these  poor  fetters  of  custom, 
and  heartily  and  contentedly  find  and  fill  the  places 
crying  aloud,  all  about  you,  for  the  work  of  just  such 
women  as  you  are  ?  Is  your  false  pride  of  position 
agreeable  or  comfortable  enough  to  compensate  you 


LOVE.  31 

for  a  life  of  sufferance,  of  contempt,  of  real  oppres 
sion,  and  nominal  reward  ?  If  it  is,  if  you  prefer 
husks  to  bread,  continue  then  to  eat  them ;  but  never 
complain  to  man  or  woman  of  their  huskiness,  or 
stretch  out  your  feeble  hands  for  alms  of  pity. 

However,  though  she  did  not  know  it,  or  expect 
him,  Philemon  had  come,  and  he  had  not  been  an 
hour  in  the  village  before  he  heard  of  Kachel's 
wretched  condition,  and  her  aunt's  intention.  He, 
too,  was  an  orphan,  with  an  old  uncle  in  Deerfield, 
his  guardian  and  only  relative ;  a  simple,  kindly,  good 
old  man,  who  considered  Philemon  the  "  expectancy 
and  rose  "  of  all  New  England,  and  would  not  have 
thwarted  him  in  his  wildest  wishes  had  it  been  in 
his  power  to  grant  them.  There  had  been  times  in 
this  young  man's  life  when  he  thought  sadly  of  his 
homeless  state,  and  longed  for  the  tender  affection  of 
a  mother,  or  steady  and  wise  fatherly  guidance ;  but 
now  he  felt  a  half  unwilling  thrill  of  joy  that  he  was 
entirely  his  own  master,  and  in  full  possession  of  the 
two  thousand  dollars  that  remained  of  his  small  prop 
erty,  since  his  education  was  finished  and  paid  for. 
His  first  step  was  to  visit  old  Doctor  Prime  and  hold 
a  long  consultation  with  him,  from  which  the  doctor 
emerged  winking  his  eyes  very  hard,  growling  under 
his  breath,  shaking  his  head,  and  generally  behaving 
in  an  ominous  manner.  The  two  repaired  at  once  to 
the  parsonage,  where  a  younger  brother  of  the  doctor 
held  sway,  and  there  another  hour  was  spent  in  triple 
council ;  all  these  movements  eagerly  observed  and 


32  STEADFAST. 

commented  on  by  female  eyes,  wherever  the  line  of 
vision  made  it  possible.  But  all  that  even  the  most 
assiduously  observant  woman  heard,  was  these  four 
words  from  Philemon's  lips,  as  he  shut  the  parsonage 
door  after  him  in  coming  out,  —  "  Remember !  half- 
past  four." 

It  was  three  already  when  Philemon  Hall  arrived 
at  Mrs.  Peek's  house,  and  nodding  to  the  astonished 
Mary  Ann,  left  on  guard  while  her  mother  had  gone 
up  to  settle  Rachel's  affairs  with  Mr.  Simons,  went 
straight  up  to  that  dingy  garret  where  his  Rachel  lay. 

She  did  not  faint  or  cry  out  when  he  entered ;  she 
had  so  long  dreamed  of  this  hour,  waited,  watched 
for,  prayed  over,  feared  it,  that  there  was  no  shock  of 
surprise,  no  start  of  unexpected  emotion  in  her  soul ; 
she  looked  up  and  smiled. 

But  Philemon  stopped  short  on  the  threshold,  and 
the  love  that,  in  tranquil  surety  of  fulfilment,  had  so 
long  grown  with  his  growth  and  strengthened  with 
his  strength,  seemed  suddenly  to  reveal  itself  and 
take  possession  of  his  whole  nature  with  a  power 
that  shook  him  to  the  heart. 

It  was  not  the  beautiful,  innocent,  gentle  girl  he 
had  left,  who  lay  in  that  squalid  bed,  with  eyes  as 
large  and  limpid  as  the  rock  pools  of  an  ebbing  sea, 
with  tangled  masses  of  dull  gold  hair  fringing  the 
blue-veined  forehead  and  wan,  sunken  cheeks;  the 
Rachel  of  the  past  was  a  child,  this  was  a  saint ;  the 
very  calm  of  heaven  on  her  emaciated  features,  and 
its  light  in  her  tranquil  eyes  just  dewed  with  unshed 


LOVE.  33 

tears.  He  knelt  down  beside  her  and  set  a  reverent 
kiss  on  her  forehead,  and  then  looked  at  her  without 
a  word.  She  was  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Are  you  well,  Philemon  ?  "  she  said,  gently  and 
primly,  as  a  daisy  might  speak  if  it  could. 

"  But  you,  Eachel ! "  he  answered,  careless  of  any 
answer  to  her  speech.  "Do  you  suffer?  do  you 
ache  ?  cannot  you  be  lifted  ?  " 

"  I  ache  some,"  she  said ;  "  sometimes  not  so  much, 
though,"  with  a  piteous  little  smile.  "Nobody  has 
tried  to  lift  me ;  I  can  move  just  a  little." 

"I'm  coming  back  in  one  minute,"  he  said,  hur 
riedly. 

Rachel  thought  he  had  gone  out  to  control  himself, 
that  he  could  not  endure  the  change  in  her  aspect ; 
she  did  not  know  that  she  was  lovelier  than  ever ;  she 
sighed,  for  she  was  a  woman,  and  she  loved  him. 

But,  in  the  shortest  possible  time,  if  it  was  more  than 
a  minute,  he  returned  with  Aunt  Ruthy  Wells,  the 
nurse  and  friend  of  all  the  village  ;  and  with  her  soft, 
strong  hands,  her  skill  of  experience,  her  tenderness, 
and  gentle  ways,  another  hour  saw  Rachel  bathed, 
clothed  afresh,  her  bed  daintily  neat,  her  hair  un 
tangled,  smoothed,  braided  loosely  about  her  head 
and  covered  with  a  little  linen  cap  ;  then  she  fetched 
her  a  cup  of  hot  broth  with  a  spoonful  of  wine  in  it, 
and  fed  her  like  a  child;  rested  and  refreshed  she 
looked  up  at  Aunt  Ruthy  with  grateful  eyes,  and  had 
parted  her  lips  to  speak,  when  the  door  opened,  and 
in  walked  Parson  Prime,  the  doctor,  and  Philemon. 


34  STEADFAST. 

It  was  a  stroke  of  strategy  to  be  so  sudden.  Phile 
mon  did  not  stop  to  consider ;  this  was  not  a  matter 
of  duty ;  he  loved  Eachel  with  all  his  strong,  faithful 
heart ;  he  could  not  leave  her  an  hour  longer  in  suf 
fering  5  there  was,  in  his  eyes,  but  one  thing  to  do, 
and  that  was  to  marry  her.  If  he  gave  her  so  much 
as  an  hour  to  consider,  he  knew  where  her  unselfish 
ness  and  good  sense  would  land  his  plans  and  pur 
poses,  therefore,  he  would  not  give  her  that  hour,  but 
took  for  granted  that  her  consent,  given  so  long  ago, 
was  valid  still ;  and  refused  to  listen  to  the  hurried 
remonstrances  she  tried  even  now  to  make. 

"I  guess  you'd  as  good  keep  still;  talking  '11  only 
wear  ye  out.'7  grimly  remarked  the  doctor.  "  He's  as 
sot  in  his  way  as  I  ever  see  a  man,  and  you  haven't 
had  dealings  with  'em  so  long  as  I  have.  I  tell  you 
what!  if  the  man's  the  head  of  the  woman,  as  the 
Scripter  says,  you'll  have  a  big  head,  Rachel,  and  you 
can't  bend  it  much ! " 

"Brother!"  said  Parson  Prime,  with  an  official 
scowl,  "this  is  not  a  time  to  laugh." 

The  doctor  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  shut  his 
mouth,  but  his  eyes  twinkled  wickedly;  and  over 
borne  by  persuasion,  by  masculine  dogmatism,  by  the 
suddenness  and  surprise  of  the  thing ;  protesting  with 
every  power  of  her  mind,  assenting  with  every  throb 
of  her  heart,  looking  up  at  Philemon  with  the  depre 
cating  adoration  of  a  mortal  who  beholds  an  angel 
stooping  to  earth's  helpless,  needy  level,  —  Eachel 
Mather  was  married  to  Philemon  Hall  without  a 


LOVE.  85 

crowd  of  friends,  a  wedding  feast,  a  veiled  bride,  or 
even  the  flowers  that  ^hould  have  lent  the  last  adorn 
ment  to  such  a  scene  ;  but  no  death-bed  marriage  could 
have  been  more  solemn  or  as  serene ;  it  was  like  a 
translation  to  the  hopeless,  earthly  life  of  the  woman ; 
an  opening  of  heaven's  gates  j  and  it  was  the  rapture 
of  fulfilment  to  the  man,  without  one  tinge  of  earth 
or  self  in  its  joy ;  the  stainless  rapture  of  a  seraph 
over  the  soul  gathered  to  the  love  of  eternity,  safe  in 
the  heavenly  rest.  Strange,  unworldly,  unwise,  im 
possible  to  mortal  man  as  this  tale  seems,  oh ! 
friendly  reader,  it  is  true.  And  while  you  stare  and 
wonder  and  almost  disbelieve,  just  as  Deerfield  people 
did ;  yet  knowing  that  it  was,  and  is,  a  fact  of  well- 
attested  history,  will  you  not  for  this  man's  sake 
have  a  grain  of  faith  hereafter  in  the  possibilities  of 
humanity,  when  God  breathes  into  its  shape  once 
more  the  breath  of  His  life  ? 


CHAPTER  III. 

CONTINUANCE. 

Here  may  ye  see  that  '  men  can '  be 
In  love  meek,  kind,  and  stable. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Peek  came  home  from  her  visit  to  the 
poorhouse,  which  had  been  prolonged  beyond  her  ex 
pectance  by  a  sturdy  squabble  with  Simmons,  who 
kept  it,  concerning  certain  arrangements  for  Kachel, 
she  was  stunned  to  find  her  burden  taken  off  her 
hands  in  such  a  way.  She  did  not  dare  encounter 
Philemon's  keen  gray  eye,  which  looked  through  her 
flimsy  pretence  of  kindness,  to  the  cruelty  and  in 
justice  beneath  ;  and  he,  with  that  masculine  wisdom 
which  teaches  a  man  to  be  silent  in  cases  where  a 
woman  thinks,  or  rather  feels  that  she  must  speak  or 
die,  did  not  offer  any  accusations  or  ask  any  explana 
tions  concerning  the  past. 

He  merely  entered  into  certain  discussions  of  a 
business  nature,  for  it  was  needful  that  Rachel  should 
have  a  place  where  she  could  be  comfortable  till  he 
had  a  home  of  his  own.  He  could  have  taken  her  to 
his  uncle's  house,  but  Doctor  Prime  would  not  allow 
her  to  be  moved  twice ;  her  extreme  exhaustion  and 
delicacy  forbade  the  attempt.  Philemon  had  been 
preaching  during  his  last  term  of  study  in  the  little 
36 


CONTINUANCE.  37 

village  of  Trumbull,  a  growing  town  on  the  seashore, 
where  certain  magnates  of  the  West  India  trade  in 
New  Haven  had  built  them  goodly  homes,  and  at 
tracted  by  their  daily  needs  such  tradesmen  as  the 
scant  custom  of  an  ordinary  village  did  not  allow. 
There  was  little  doubt  that  when  the  young  student 
was  ready  to  be  ordained  he  would  receive  a  call  to 
this  parish,  but  till  he  was  fairly  settled  it  seemed 
best  to  have  Eachel  remain  in  her  aunt's  house. 

After  much  higgling  on  Widow  Peek's  side,  and  a 
certain  thrifty  demur  and  sense  of  justice  on  Mr. 
Hall's,  it  was  at  last  arranged  that  Eachel  should  oc 
cupy  the  spare  room,  which  had  a  cheerful,  sunny 
outlook,  and  an  open  fireplace ;  and  Aunt  Euthy  be 
established  as  her  nurse,  providing  and  cooking  both 
her  food  and  Eachel's ;  the  bargain  including  the  use 
of  Mrs.  Peek's  kitchen  fire  for  the  latter  purpose. 

This  being  decided,  Philemon  set  himself  to  his 
outside  work,  visiting  his  wife  daily,  bringing  refresh 
ment  and  rest  in  his  very  presence  ;  reading  to  her ; 
praying  at  her  side;  soothing  her  fears,  her  self- 
reproach,  her  doubts,  with  all  the  patience  of  love  and 
the  fervor  of  faith.  Eachel  grew  happier,  and,  in  that 
way,  better,  basking  in  all  this  sunshine  ;  but  even  the 
most  profound  affection,  faithful  care,  and  skilful 
nursing  cannot  restore  to  the  distorted  muscles  and 
shattered  nerves  their  supple  strength  and  healthy 
calm.  It  became  more  and  more  unquestionable  that 
she  was  to  be  a  cripple  for  life  ;  and  when,  in  the  early 
fall,  Philemon  received  and  accepted  his  call  to  the 


38  STEADFAST. 

church  in  Trumbull,  and  by  slow  and  painful  stages, 
in  a  vehicle  fitted  up  for  the  purpose,  Eachel  was  car 
ried  to  her  new  home,  she  felt  that  it  was  for  life  and 
death ;  that  never  again  her  feet  would  tread  the 
elastic  sward,  her  eyes  see  the  hills  and  valleys  of  her 
native  township,  or  her  knotted  fingers  pluck  the 
spring-born  blossoms  from  their  lonely  woodland 
haunts. 

Aunt  Euthy  had  resolved  to  stay  with  her  charge, 
whom  she  had  learned  to  love  with  almost  maternal 
affection,  as  general  servant,  nurse,  and  friend.  She 
was  tired  of  nursing  from  house  to  house,  she  was 
well-nigh  fifty  years  old,  and  begun  to  hunger  for  a 
home ;  and  as  her  only  child  was  a  sailor,  wandering 
from  land  to  land  with  that  craze  for  adventure  that 
lays  hold  on  some  men  to  the  extinction  of  natural 
ties,  she  had  no  prospect  for  her  old  age  better  than 
that  offered  her  in  the  house  of  the  minister.  In 
those  days  a  settlement  in  any  parish  meant  a  life 
long  position,  except  under  some  peculiar  circum 
stances,  and  Aunt  Euthy  in  becoming  a  member  of 
Philemon  Hall's  family  felt  herself  secure. 

The  patriarchal  relation  of  servants  to  the  served 
in  the  older  times  was,  in  the  country,  almost  univer 
sal  ;  and  though  Aunt  Euthy  cooked,  washed,  ironed, 
swept,  dusted,  sewed,  and  cared  for  the  invalid  beside, 
when  her  methodic  and  capable  strength  had  done 
the  day's  work  up  with  a  calm  despatch  and  neatness 
modern  service  knows  nothing  about,  she  put  on  her 
tamboured  collar,  changed  her  stuff  skirt  and  check 


CONTINUANCE.  39 

short  gown  for  a  gay  chintz  gown  and  petticoat,  put  a 
clean  mob-cap  on  her  gray  hair  rolled  neatly  over  a 
small  cushion,  and  sat  down  by  Rachel  to  keep  her 
company,  helped  to  entertain  her  guests,  and,  with  the 
quiet  tact  of  an  intelligent  and  self-respecting  woman, 
made  herself  agreeable  without  being  intrusive,  and 
companionable  without  presumption  or  impertinence. 
Dear  old  Aunt  Euthy  !  you,  whom  I  remember  in 
your  old  age,  with  dark,  dovelike  eyes  in  whose 
depths  lurked  a  great  sorrow  and  a  greater  love  ;  your 
benign  face  and  suave  features  lit  with  affection  and 
appreciation,  with  love  to  God  and  man.  You,  who 
had  the  royal  heart  and  the  lavish  hand  of  the  ideal 
queen,  where  are  your  kind  gone  to  ?  Why  have  we, 
instead,  a  tribe  of  over-dressed,  flaunting,  silly,  selfish 
creatures,  good  only  for  factory  hands  ?  Is  it  educa 
tion,  is  it  liberty,  is  it  cheap  manufactures,  or  yellow- 
covered  novels  that  have  wrought  this  result  in  our 
women  ? 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  when  the  first  flush  of 
enthusiasm,  generosity,  pity,  and  indignation  passed 
by,  and  Philemon  Hall  took  up  his  life  with  a  daily 
increasing  consciousness  of  its  incompleteness,  that  he 
was  a  happy,  or  a  contented  man ;  for  him,  in  lieu  of 
the  active  joyful  wife,  ready  to  share  in  his  work,  to 
bear  and  guide  his  children,  to  be  his  heart's  delight, 
companion  as  well  as  comforter,  —  there  was  only  this 
sweet,  pale  saint  shrined  in  her  chamber,  a  creature 

quite, 

.     .     .     "  Too  bright  and  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food." 


40  STEADFAST. 

and  he  was  not  yet  old  enough  or  disciplined  enough 
to  like  daily  manna,  though  it  tasted  of  heaven. 

He  might  almost  as  well  have  been  a  monk  in  a  cell, 
with  a  shrined  Madonna  for  his  household  goddess ; 
only  that  the  image  would  not  have  been  sensitive  to 
every  sad  look,  long-drawn  breath,  or  heavy-hearted 
expression  of  its  votary.  It  is  hard  to  be  a  martyr  at 
the  stake,  no  doubt,  but  there  are  the  exultation  of 
triumphant  faith,  the  wondering  eyes  of  the  crowd 
of  witnesses,  the  rapture  of  victory,  the  abstraction  of 
soul  and  spirit,  all  enabling  the  flesh  to  endure  that 
sharp  short  agony ;  but  a  martyr  by  pin-pricks,  or 
stung  to  death  by  mosquitoes  would  demand  wonderful 
grace  and  faith  to  live  to  the  end  of  his  slow  torture. 

Yet  Philemon  Hall  was  so  generous  a  man,  so 
patient  in  his  strength,  so  filled  with  deep  affection 
for  this  shipwrecked  love  of  his  childhood  and  youth, 
that  never  a  word  of  regret,  of  impatience,  or  coldness 
met  her  ear ;  and  if,  in  her  morbid  sense  of  dereliction 
from  duty  and  unfitness  for  her  position,  she  imagined 
traces  of  loss  or  weariness  in  his  eye  or  voice,  he 
learned  at  once  to  detect  her  thought,  to  meet  the  up 
turned  eye  with  a  look  of  cheerful  affection,  and 
soothe  the  apprehensive  ear  with  words  of  tenderness 
and  consolation. 

If  his  struggles  were  sharp  in  the  solitude  of  his 
study,  or  in  his  long  lonely  walks  through  the  odorous 
pine  woods,  or  along  the  sea-resounding  shore ;  if  the 
life  that  might  have  been  arose  at  times  and  tempted 
him  with  its  visionary  troops  of  possible  delights  and 


CONTINUANCE.  41 

broader  experiences  ;  he  learned  from  the  very  temp 
tation  he  endured,  to  be  tender  of  his  brethren  who 
yielded  to  the  assaults  his  position  and  his  circum 
stances,  as  well  as  divine  aid,  enabled  him  to  resist ; 
and,  walking  side  by  side  with  Him,  who  fought  the 
world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil,  in  their  most  alluring 
shapes  on  a  lonely  mountain  top  of  Judea,  and  came 
off  more  than  conqueror,  this  humble  follower  of  the 
Master  fought  his  own  good  fight,  proved  his  armor 
thoroughly,  and  fitted  himself  to  speak  as  one  having 
authority  and  also  sympathy  with  his  human  audience. 
And  Rachel  too,  unaided  by  education,  or  outward 
nature,  shut  in  upon  herself,  and  conscious  of  a  mis 
take  in  her  life  that  to  her  rigid  sense  of  duty  seemed 
a  sin  ;  though  at  first  she  fretted  silently  and  long  to 
think  she  had  not  had  the  fortitude  and  persistence 
to  refuse  to  marry  Philemon,  at  last  she  learned  that, — 

"  Where  thou  art  placed,  serenely  there  to  stand," 
is  the  great  virtue  of  daily  life,  and  demands  the  most 
thorough  subjection  of  the  soul  to  its  religious  faith 
and  immortal  necessities.  In  this  she  was  mightily 
aided  by  the  vigorous  common  sense  of  Aunt  Ruthy, 
who  understood  perfectly  the  danger  of  morbid  feel 
ing  in  a  person  placed  in  Rachel's  exceptional  circum 
stances. 

One  day,  for  the  first  time  since  they  were  settled 
in  Trumbull,  as  Aunt  Ruthy  sat  in  the  bedroom  knit 
ting,  and  her  charge  half  dozed  in  the  bed,  Rachel 
turned  her  head,  and  unconscious  of  any  hearer 
sighed  out  faintly,  — 


42  STEADFAST. 

"  0  why  !  why,  did  I  let  him  marry  me  ?  " 
"Well/'  said  Aunt  Kuthy,  placidly,  as  if  the  ques 
tion  had  been  addressed  to  her,  "  I  expect  there  was 
several  reasons,  dear ;  first  and  foremost,  he  was  sot 
that  ye  should,  and  he  ain't  one  to  stay  nor  delay 
with,  when  he  starts  out ;  then  you  was  took  sudden ; 
you  hadn't  no  time  to  think  about  it,  bein'  weak  and 
stunned  as  it  might  be.  'He  knoweth  our 'frame  and 
remembereth  that  we  are  dust,'  ye  know.  I've  seen 
too  many  sick  folks  not  to  know  how  often  the  sperit 
is  willin',  but  the  flesh  is  too  weak  not  to  block  the 
way,  and  I  don't  b'lieve  the  Lord  that  made  us  is 
goin'  to  overlook  our  weak  spots  any  more'n  our 
strong  ones.  But  land!  why  be  I  talkin'  all  abroad 
this  way  ?  The  thing's  done ;  its  laid  away ;  and  you 
nor  me  ha'n't  no  call  with  what's  over ;  we  must  for 
get  them  things  that's  behind  an'  press  forrard ;  do 
the  best  we  can  with  what  we've  got.  We've  all  got 
to  go  to  school,  I  expect,  and  we  don't  all  get  the  same 
lesson  to  1'arn,  but  the  one  we  do  get  is  our'n,  'taint 
nobody  else's,  and  if  its  real  hard,  why  it  shows  the 
teacher  thinks  we're  capable." 

Eachel  drank  in  this  homely  wisdom  and  laid  it  up 
in  her  heart ;  it  had  the  true  ring,  and  in  these  weary 
days  and  years,  her  simple  conscientious  nature  strove 
daily  to  accept  not  only  patiently,  but  gratefully,  the 
burden  that  was  laid  upon  her ;  she  interested  her 
self  in  all  the  sick  and  poor  of  the  parish,  and  instead 
of  complaining  of  her  own  aches  learned  to  be  thank 
ful  that  she  had  such  a  home,  such  care,  and  such  love 


CONTINUANCE.  43 

as  surrounded  her  every  hour,  when  so  many  others 
lacked  even  daily  bread  in  the  tortures  of  disease, 
and  worse  than  all,  had  to  witness  helplessly  the  pov 
erty  and  distress  of  their  families.  Even,  after  a  long 
time,  she  learned  to  thank  God  that  if  she  had  missed 
the  joys  of  maternity,  she  had  also  missed  its  awful 
responsibilities,  that  she  had  no  living  soul  to  answer 
for  but  her  own,  in  that  day  ever  present  to  her 
thought,  ever  near  to  her  expectancy.  Her  white- 
draped  bed  and  cheerful  room  became  a  sort  of  chapel 
to  the  good,  and  also  to  the  bad  people  in  Trumbull, 
where  they  went  for  confession,  counsel,  or  to  ask 
prayers  in  some  stress  of  life  or  death.  She  had  a 
welcome  hand  and  look  for  every  one  ;  she  knew  their 
joys,  their  sorrows,  and  their  doubts ;  to  her  the 
family  skeletons  were  unveiled,  and  the  family  hopes 
confided;  her  table  had  the  first  and  latest  flowers 
brought  to  adorn  it,  and  nobody  in  the  village  ever 
made  a  social  celebration  of  any  sort  but  a  bit  of  its 
daintiest  morsels  was  set  aside  for  Mrs.  Hall. 

Madam  Stanley,  the  governor's  lady,  a  shrewish  but 
handsome  dignified  woman  of  thirty  when  Parson 
Hall  came  to  Trumbull,  let  no  week  pass  without  a 
visit  at  the  invalid's  bedside.  Her  skilful  hands  con 
cocted  many  a  delicious  dish  to  tempt  Eachel's  fastid 
ious  appetite,  and  she  herself  carried  it  to  the  parson 
age  in  some  quaint  old  basket,  with  a  nosegay  of  lav 
ender,  damask  roses,  smellage,  old  man,  clove  pinks, 
heartsease,  or  whatever  sweet  old-fashioned  flower 
her  parterres  furnished.  It  was  like  a  picture  to  see 


44  STEADFAST. 

her,  stately  in  her  dove-colored  paduasoy  gown  and 
lilac  satin  petticoat,  her  full  kerchief  and  thread-lace 
ruff,  a  black  lace  mantle  with  a  hood  across  her  bosom 
and  on  her  powdered  hair,  her  pouting  lips,  deep  gen 
tian  blue  eyes,  and  rosy  countenance  full  of  pride, 
passion,  and  yet  kindly  withal,  beside  the  white  bed 
of  this  frail  gold-haired  creature,  as  evanescent  of 
aspect  as  a  pearly  cloud  in  heaven  tinged  by  the  dying 
sun.  Hither  too  came  Sybil  Saltonstall,  the  gover 
nor's  niece,  a  girl  in  the  blush  and  bloom  of  seventeen. 
Shy,  reticent,  alive  to  every  shade  or  shine  of  life,  a 
strange  compound  of  dreams  and  realities,  so  proud 
that  she  would  not  show  even  her  kindest  and  truest 
feelings,  so  true  that  she  paraded  her  faults  and  hid 
her  virtues  lest  she  should  gain  credit  she  did  not 
deserve;  she  was  a  delight  and  a  puzzle  to  Rachel, 
whose  nature  was  limpid  as  a  mountain  tarn,  and  could 
no  more  understand  Sybil's  flights  and  notions  than 
a  blossom  can  understand  a  bird,  yet  she  could  not 
help  loving  the  girl,  feeling,  though  she  did  not  see, 
the  depth  and  devotion  dormant  in  her  heart,  and 
refreshed  with  delight  by  her  noble  aspect,  the  breadth 
of  her  white  forehead,  her  clear,  sea-gray  eyes,  pellucid 
as  a  spring,  yet  holding  deep  the  spark  of  a  star  under 
the  long  veiling  lashes,  her  peach-bloom  cheeks  and 
crimson  lips,  her  frank,  proud  glance. 

Even  the  little  children  made  Mrs.  Hall's  room  a 
place  of  resort ;  hushed  their  noisy  laughter,  calmed 
their  rosy  faces,  and  stole  in  smilingly  and  gently 
with  their  small  offerings ;  sometimes  a  red  apple  or 


CONTINUANCE.  45 

two,  sometimes  a  handful  of  nuts,  an  early  wild 
blossom  half  crushed  in  the  eager  hand  that  had 
plucked  it,  or  a  new-laid  egg  from  the  pet  pullet. 

"It  beats  all!"  said  Isaac  Bunnel,  the  man  who 
came  daily  to  do  the  minister's  "chores"  about  the 
barn.  "  She's  the  most  of  a  sick  woman  I  ever  see. 
When  my  woman-folks  is  ailin'  they  let  me  know  on't, 
now,  I  tell  ye  !  It's  '  Isik  !  fetch  me  some  sage  ;  Isik ! 
do  get  that  are  brick ;  oh  land !  I  shall  die,  Isik,  ef 
ye  don't  make  haste ; '  but  she's  as  mum  as  a  clam. 
Don't  fret  none,  Aunt  Euthy  says,  nor  don't  scold; 
jest  lies  there  an'  looks  like  a  ship's  figger-head  a- 
smilin',  as  though  the  world  run  on  greased  wheels.  I 
know  there's  a  lot  o'  grace  to  work,  as  they  tell  about ; 
but  seems  as  ef  grace  could  work  in  some  naters  bet 
ter  'n  others ;  jest,  you  may  say,  as  the  same  sort  o' 
corn  grows  a  sight  higher  in  good  land.  She  must 
ha'  been  medder  soil  to  begin  with,  I  expect.  " 

And  beside  her  in  this  quiet  village,  hidden  from 
the  sight  of  the  world  lying  in  wickedness,  not 
shaped  by  the  agencies  of  life's  central  seething  fires, 
such  as  shake  it  with  war,  and  persecution,  and  strife ; 
but  moulded  by  the  daily  forces  of  the  tranquil  hour, 
growing  from  within  by  virtue  of  the  deep  root,  the 
dropping  dew,  the  sudden  shower  and  stressful  winds, 
the  sunshine  and  the  night ;  —  grew  up  to  the  full  stat 
ure  of  a  man  in  Christ  Jesus,  the  saint  who  left  behind 
him  a  real  saint's  record,  Philemon  Hall.  If  his  wife 
could  have  known  how  much  her  influence  had  done 
to  refine  and  sweeten  his  firm  and  powerful  character; 


46 


STEADFAST. 


how  much  he  owed  of  his  strong  enduring  purpose, 
and  patient  faith  to  the  working  of  the  very  position 
he  had  so  rashly  assumed,  and  she  so  deeply  regretted, 
she  would  have  been  satisfied.;  but  these  things  work 
like  the  forces  of  nature  upon  us,  and  we  know  them 
not  till  we  see  the  results ;  and  it  is  herein  we  walk 
by  faith,  not  by  sight.  And  now,  when  Parson  Hall 
and  his  wife  had,  after  four  years'  hard  service  and 
patience,  become  at  home  in  every  sense  in  Trumbull ; 
found  their  place  in  the  hearts  of  its  people  and  grown 
into  their  lives ;  far  away  in  the  mountain  town  of 
Plainfield,  Doctor  Dennis  dies,  and  his  stricken,  home 
less  wife  writes  a  letter  to  Uncle  Dyer,  a  retired  mer 
chant  living  also  in  Trumbull,  a  letter  about  to  bring 
together  Esther  Dennis  and  her  fate. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

CIRCUMSTANCE. 

We  consider  not  sufficiently  the  good  of  evils. 
WHEN  Mr.  Dyer  received  his  niece's  letter,  he  found 
it  difficult  to  answer.  His  wife  was  lying  ill  of  a 
lingering  consumption.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to 
ask  his  relations  to  come  and  visit  him,  as  he  would 
gladly  have  done.  He  could  not  but  perceive  that  in 
the  event  of  his  wife's  death  he  should  himself  be 
glad  of  Mrs.  Dennis's  care  and  companionship,  but 
this  was  a  prospect  he  could  not  decently  offer  as  an 
inducement.  Nothing  occurred  to  him  as  a  probable  ' 
or  possible  occupation  for  two  lonely  women,  and  at 
last  after  much  thought  he  sent  them  the  following 
letter.  If  it  is  not  orthographically  correct,  let  us 
have  the  charity  to  remember  that  spelling  was  not 
a  test  of  education  in  those  days ;  even  George 
Washington  was  incorrect  in  that  particular.  Can  I 
offer  greater  excuse  ? 

TBUMBULL,  Novr  ye  27,  1748. 

MY  DEAR  NEICE,  —  I  Kec'd  your  favor  of  ye'  19th  inst 
Per  Male  duly.  I  regret  to  hear  of  y'r  Mellancholly  Afliction; 
death  spares  no  Man;  Wee  must  all  dye  Sooner  or  Later.  I 
hope  you  are  Resign' d  to  the  Will  of  god;  having  Comfortabel 
Asurance  that  ye'  Deceas'd  is  depparted  to  a  Better  Condishion 
of  Things. 

In  Respect  of  ye'  Matter  of  w'ch  you  Writ,  I  see  nothing  at 
Present  open  to  your  Intention:  but  I  think  when  Spring  arives 

47 


48  STEADFAST. 

their  may  Bee  something  found.  I  Forward  in  this  a  Bill  ov 
Draft  w'ch  you  can  have  Cash'd  in  the  Town  by  Mr.  Seers,  he 
Being  a  Customer  in  time  past  of  Mine.  It  will  help  you  in 
the  Winter  time  to  wait  more  Comfortable,  and  I  will  keap  you 
in  Mind,  if,  as  I  now  Think  there  may  be  Need  of  you  Herafter. 

Yours  to  Command 

JOSHUA  DYEK. 

Mrs.  Dennis  handed  the  letter  to  Esther  without  a 
word ;  she  was  disappointed.  Her  hope  and  thought 
had  been  to  escape  at  once  from  this  house  haunted 
by  the  idea  and  shape  of  her  husband ;  for  it  seemed 
to  her  bereft  soul  that  he  stood  beside  the  fireplace 
when  she  entered  the  room,  but  eluded  her  sight  when 
the  door  opened ;  or,  that  he  still  leaned  over  the 
office  table  and  vanished  when  she  looked  in;  every 
step  startled  her,  every  sound  struck  sharp  upon  her 
ear  with  a  possibility  never  realized,  and  she  wanted 
to  get  away  to  some  place  where  no  association  tor 
tured  her.  But  this  letter  put  an  end  to  the  thought ; 
a  woman  has  so  little  resource  in  such  a  position,  she 
is  so  helpless,  so  cramped.  A  man  can  go  and  come 
as  he  will ;  find  some  place  in  life  out  of  and  beyond 
the  dwelling  of  his  dead  ;  but  a  woman  must  sit  down 
and  endure.  She  took  the  bill  for  two  hundred  dol 
lars  as  simply  as  if  it  were  her  right ;  Uncle  Dyer 
had  enough  and  to  spare,  it  was  kind  in  him ;  but  she 
was  not  humiliated  or  angered  by  the  gift,  she  had 
that  rare  generosity  which  can  take  as  cordially  as  it 
can  give. 

Esther  was  not  as  surprised  or  as  grieved  as  her 
mother ;  she  had  not  built  much  on  the  help  Uncle 


CIRCUMSTANCE.  49 

Dyer  would  give  them,  and  it  was  a  sort  of  respite  to 
her  not  to  leave  the  home  where  she  had  always  lived. 
She  was  a  true  New  England  girl,  shy,  sturdy  in 
resolve,  quick  in  action,  reticent,  and  perhaps  proud, 
having  under  all  a  character  that  circumstances  alone 
could  develop,  that  was  even  yet  a  mystery  to  herself. 
So  they  endured  in  their  little  house  the  long  Ver 
mont  winter.  Esther  cleared  the  snow  from  doorsteps 
and  paths  herself,  went  for  the  milk,  kept  the  fires 
going,  cooked  their  slight  meals,  and  helped  the  heav 
ier  work  along,  while  her  mother  spun  yarn  on  the  big 
wheel  to  supply  the  knitting  that  occupied  their  even 
ings,  and  once  a  week  the  butcher,  whose  cart  stopped 
every  Saturday  at  the  door,  carried  such  socks  and 
mittens  as  were  finished  to  "  the  store  "  in  Plainfield 
and  exchanged  them  for  groceries  which  he  .carried 
back  the  next  week.  The  winter  was  long  and  lonely, 
but  it  wore  away ;  the  last  week  in  February  came  a 
brief  note  from  Uncle  Dyer,  telling  them  of  his  wife's 
death,  and  three  weeks  after,  a  longer  letter  asking 
them  to  come  at  once  to  Trumbull,  and  live  with  him, 
as  he  needed  care  and  company  as  much  as  they  needed 
a  home.  It  did  not  take  many  days  to  dispose  of  their 
few  goods ;  fortunately,  the  butcher,  who  had  been  so 
friendly  to  them  through  the  winter,  wanted  to  rent  a 
farm,  and  would  take  their  scanty  furniture  and  other 
household  goods  at  a  fair  valuation;  two  old  hair- 
trunks  with  initials  in  brass  nails  on  the  top,  and 
trimmings  of  pinked  leather  nailed  on  all  around, 
held  their  clothes,  and  a  great  bandbox  carried  preca- 


50  STEADFAST. 

riously  their  best  bonnets.  The  drive  was  long  and 
tedious,  travel  by  stage  coach  has  become  a  faint  mem 
ory  to-day  to  the  few  who  recall  it  at  all,  yet  there  are 
a  few  who  cannot  forget  the  swaying  and  bouncing 
motion  of  those  great  stiff  springs,  a  motion  as  dis 
turbing  to  the  reeling  head  and  sympathizing  stomach, 
as  if  the  luckless  traveller  were  given  over  to  be  bandied 
about  between  the  centrifugal  and  centripetal  forces  of 
nature,  yielding  now  to  one  and  now  to  the  other, 
neither  getting  the  victory  in  the  end,  but  tossing  the 
victim  to  and  fro  at  their  seething  point  of  contact 
till  he  wished  either  of  the  tormentors  might  conquer, 
though  it  were  his  own  death.  Then  there  were  the 
slippery  cushions,  the  unsavory  straw  under  foot,  the 
windows  never  open  but  that  some  one  else  wanted 
them  shut,  or  shut  but  that  some  one  insisted  on  their 
opening ;  the  evil  smell  of  damp  leather,  the  enforced 
companionship,  the  cramped  position,  all  these  ex 
changed  now  for  the  ease,  the  swiftness,  the  compara 
tive  privacy  of  a  railway  car,  where  at  least  there  is 
some  attempt  at  ventilation,  and  only  your  very  near 
est  neighbor  dare  growl  at  your  window.  It  was  with 
an  extreme-  sense  of  exhaustion  and  relief  that  Esther 
and  her  mother  at  last  clambered  down  the  rattling 
steps  of  the  "stage,"  at  Uncle  Dyer's  door,  and 
received  his  warm  and  earnest  welcome. 

Joshua  Dyer  was  a  kindly,  just,  and  honest  man. 
If  he  had  made  money  in  trade,  it  was  done  in  the 
most  conscientious  way;  gifted  with  that  talent  for 
business  that  is  in  its  way  as  much  a  separate  gift  as 


CIRCUMSTANCE.  51 

genius,  he  had  been  able  to  seize  the  moment  of  pro 
pitious  circumstance  in  all  his  long  mercantile  life, 
just  when  there  was  a  demand  which  he  could  supply, 
and  he  had  retired  to  private  life  carrying  with  him 
the  respect  of  all  his  compeers  and  those  whom  he 
had  employed.  His  wife  was  a  dull,  uninteresting 
woman,  whom  he  had  married  in  one  of  those  youth 
ful  passions  inspired  by  a  vivid  complexion,  shining 
hair,  and  capacity  for  giggling,  and  whom  he  had  dis 
covered,  when  the  passion  burned  out  as  rapidly  as 
light  wood  will,  to  have  nothing  companionable,  in 
spiring,  helpful,  or  even  amusing  about  her,  yet  to 
have  a  capacity  for  jealousy,  for  hoarding,  and  for  med 
dling,  that  showed  how  narrow  was  the  nature,  how 
uneducated  the  mind  beneath  her  roseate  cheeks  and 
sparkling  eyes. 

If  she  had  been  jealous  of  him  alone,  perhaps 
Joshua  Dyer  might  have  looked  on  her  more  kindly, 
considering  it  a  proof  of  her  love  for  him,  as  indeed 
in  some  ardent  and  direct  natures  it  is.  That  cannot 
be  necessarily  a  low  emotion  whose  earthly  name  God 
himself  condescends  to  apply  to  his  own  will  that  his 
children  should  love  him  supremely,  and  there  is  a 
human  love  which  has,  from  its  own  utter  and  entire 
forgetfulness  of  self  and  its  eager  devotion,  an  inaliena 
ble  right  to  demand  that  the  love  given  to  it  in  return 
shall  be  equally  pure,  single,  monopolizing,  and  faith 
ful  ;  but  Mrs.  Dyer  had  no  such  noble  hunger  or  divine 
right  within  her  narrow  nature  ;  she  was  jealous  of 
her  position,  her  precedence,  her  social  privileges,  her 


02  STEADFAST. 

due  honor,  and  the  respect  she  imagined  she  deserved. 
Her  life  was  one  long  accusation  of  those  about  her, 
and  consequently  their  alienation ;  and  it  was  a  relief 
to  her  husband,  though  he  dared  not  acknowledge  it 
even  to  himself,  when  death,  the  inexorable  leveller, 
put  an  end  to  Mrs.  Dyer's  claims,  and  calmed  with  his 
tyrannic  silencing  her  perturbed  soul.  It  was  a  real 
home  that  the  Widow  Dennis  found  in  Truinbull.  She 
stepped  into  the  right  place  quietly  and  thankfully. 
Nothing  was  required  of  her  but  to  order  and  super 
intend  the  house,  the  kitchen  was  out  of  her  province 
and  had  its  own  ruler  and  governor.  "  The  constant 
service  of  the  antique  world,"  had  its  representative 
there  in  the  person  of  a  ten  years'  occupant,  who  was 
glad  enough  to  relinquish  the  sweeping  and  sewing 
into  other  hands.  Uncle  Dyer  was  easy  to  provide 
for,  since  he  had  little  company  to  entertain,  and  was 
of  the  simplest  tastes  and  habits  himself. 

Esther,  too,  was  happier  than  she  had  expected  to 
be.  Mr.  Dyer  had  read  a  great  deal  in  his  later  years, 
and  read  judiciously  ;  he  saw  at  once  that  Esther's 
education  had  been  necessarily  slight  and  superficial, 
and  it  was  a  real  pleasure  to  him  to  direct  her  choice 
of  books  ;  she  spent  her  mornings  in  his  quiet  library, 
and,  in  the  evening,  told  him  what  she  had  read,  and 
talked  her  books  over  with  him,  adding  to  her  own  in 
telligent  comprehension  the  wider  ideas  of  a  man  who 
had  not  only  read,  but  seen,  observed,  and  indeed 
lived  in  a  world  whose  motives,  passions,  influences, 
and  results  were  all  unknown  as  yet  to  her. 


CIRCUMSTANCE.  53 

In  the  afternoons  of  the  slow-coming  spring,  she 
rode  abroad  with  her  uncle  in  the  yellow  chaise,  or 
took  long  and  lonely  walks;  nature  had  been  her 
friend  and  companion  through  all  these  years  at  home, 
and  the  new  faces  of  the  old  friend  that  this  sea- 
softened  air  and  sandy  soil  showed  her,  had  an  added 
charm  of  novelty  to  her  observant  eye.  She  had,  too, 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  a  girl  friend ;  for  Sybil 
Saltonstall  and  she  met  on  certain  social  occasions, 
and  were  at  once  attracted  to  each  other  from  the 
very  difference  of  their  natures.  Esther's  childlike 
direct  simplicity,  her  credulous  acceptance  of  things 
for  their  outward  seeming,  her  yet  unsullied  faith  in 
life  and  man,  were  all  interesting  and  amusing  to 
Sybil.  She  had  herself  lived  too  long  in  society,  been 
too  conversant  with  the  political  machinery  that  pene 
trated  with  its  subtle  atmosphere  even  the  upright 
family  life  at  Governor  Stanley's,  to  trust  any  one 
with  that  infantile  confidence  and  ignorance  of  char 
acter  Esther  showed ;  but  she  loved  the  fresh  soul  and 
unspotted  nature  of  this  country  girl  just  as  a  lover  of 
hot-house  splendors  delights  to  see  the  shy  grace  and 
dew-born  purity  of  a  woodland  blossom  lighting  the 
green  forest  solitude. 

So  a  year  passed  by.  Esther  learned  much  in  its 
tranquil  progress  ;  to  her  already  fine  face,  awakening 
intellect  added  now  its  subtle  charm,  and  the  warm 
love  she  had  given  to  Uncle  Dyer  and  Sybil  gave  her 
beautiful  sad  eyes  a  tender  depth  they  had  never 
worn  before;  if  there  lay  within  them  any  deeper 


54  STEADFAST. 

radiance  it  still  slept ;  no  dream  of  love  had  yet  dis 
turbed  their  depths,  wearing  the  too  facile  wings,  the 
too  keen-pointed  arrow  of  the  Annoyer.  She  saw  but 
few  young  men,  only  one  who  interested  her  at  all ; 
and  if  she  gave  curious  and  strenuous  thought  to 
young  Colonel  Stonebridge,  it  was  because  he  came  to 
Trumbull  as  Sybil's  declared  admirer,  though  not  yet 
her  accepted  lover. 

Yet  all  this  time  Uncle  Dyer,  who  had  his  own 
match-making  instincts,  as  most  old  people  have, 
careless  and  fearless  about  laying  their  hands  on  the 
Ark  of  the  Lord,  had  planned  a  future  for  this  girl, 
becoming  so  dear  to  him  daily ;  though  he  wisely  re 
frained  from  speaking  of  it  to  any  one.  But  whenever 
the  chance  came  in  naturally,  he  would  talk  to  and 
before  Esther  of  his  nephew  Philip,  the  only  child  of 
his  wife's  dead  brother,  a  boy  who  had  come  to  him 
in  his  lonely  orphanhood,  and  been  taken  at  once  into 
his  heart,  and  as  far  into  his  home  as  Mrs.  Dyer's 
jealousy  and  thrift  would  permit. 

Philip  Kent  was  now  in  the  West  Indies,  settling 
some  business  for  his  uncle ;  he  had  gone  there  just 
after  his  aunt's  death,  and  was  still  absent ;  another 
year  might  bring  him  back,  and  it  seemed  to  this  old 
man  that  his  last  years  would  be  his  best  if  he  could 
see  Philip  and  Esther  sharing  his  home,  ministering 
to  his  comfort,  and  going  down  with  him  in  his  loneli 
ness  to  the  edge  of  the  grave.  Day  after  day  he 
dropped  some  word  or  two  about  Philip;  his  char 
acter,  his  business  capacity,  his  early  youth,  his 


CIRCUMSTANCE.  55 

aspect,  till  gradually  Mrs.  Dennis  and  Esther  felt  as 
if  he  had  always  been  one  of  the  family  with  them, 
and  was  gone  but  a  little  while. 

But  only  one  person,  with  that  keen  insight  that 
nothing  gives  but  an  entire  withdrawal  of  personal 
interest  in  outer  things,  perceived  the  thought  of  Mr. 
Dyer's  heart. 

Rachel  Hall,  lying  quietly  in  her  bed,  had  wel 
comed  the  new-comers  to  Trumbull,  and  so  fascinated 
Esther  that  scarcely  a  day  passed  without  finding  the 
girl  a  visitor  to  the  minister's  wife ;  in  her  girlish  un 
reserve  she  poured  out  all  her  thought  into  Rachel's 
ear,  and  often  spoke  of  this  unknown  Philip,  not  with 
a  marked  interest,  but  as  a  factor  in  the  life  of  the 
Dyer  household  as  truly  as  if  he  were  always  counted 
among  its  constant  inmates. 

Uncle  Dyer,  too,  made  it  his  duty  to  go  and  see 
Mrs.  Hall  once  a  week,  and  in  the  delight  and  pride 
in  Esther  which  he  expressed  freely  there,  Rachel  ob 
served  that  he  always  linked,  quite  unconsciously,  a 
thought  or  a  word  for  Philip  with  his  mention  of  his 
grand-niece,  as  if  they  were  so  inseparably  linked  in 
his  mind,  or  his  intention,  that  he  could  not  think  of 
them  apart. 

One  day  as  the  minister  was  sitting  beside  her  with 
his  book,  now  and  then  reading,  but  more  often  look 
ing  up  to  say  a  tender  or  cheerful  word  to  his  wife, 
Rachel  said  in  her  gentle  voice,  — 

"  Husband,  my  mind  misgives  me  that  our  good  old 
friend,  Joshua  Dyer,  has  a  thing  borne  in  upon  his 


56  STEADFAST. 

mind  that  may  be  troublous  to  him ;  has  he  spoken 
aught  of  his  plans  or  hopes  about  Philip  to 
you  ?  " 

"No,  Rachel,"  answered  the  minister;  "he  is  not  a 
man  who  is  free  to  speak.  But  why  should  he  vex 
his  soul  about  Philip,  who  is  beyond  his  influencing 
now,  and,  if  I  know  the  lad,  ever  will  be  ?  " 

"I  think  he  has  it  in  mind  to  have  Esther  and 
Philip  more  than  friendly  when  the  youth  returns. 
He  holds  them  both  very  dear.  Philip  has  ever  been 
the  apple  of  his  eye,  as  you  know,  and  Esther  is,  I 
think,  almost  as  precious  in  his  sight.  It  would  be 
pleasing  indeed  if  he  could  have  them  both  to  comfort 
his  later  days,  and  share  his  worldly  goods,  but  I  fear 
a  disappointment  for  him  ;  those  things  do  not  fall 
out  like  seedtime  and  harvest ;  and  men  are  wilful  in 
their  youth,  they  love  not  interference." 

"Nor  much  better  in  their  age,  Rachel,"  said  the 
minister,  smiling. 

"  I  have  ever  thought  that  even  as  no  man  can  help 
the  bird  of  the  air  to  build  her  curious  nest  or  choose 
her  mate,  but  rather  terrifies  the  pairing  and  casts 
down  that  wonderful  architecture  with  touch  or  taint 
of  mortal  finger,  so  it  is  more  vain  to  put  forth  the 
hand  to  aid  those  solemn  conditions  of  humanity 
which  are  the  fountain  of  life,  both  earthly  and 
heavenly.  "  Guide  not  the  hand  of  God,"  saith  the 
learned  and  wise  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  and  indeed  it 
is  but  vanity  and  presumption  to  try  such  irreverent 
guidance.  I,  too,  should  be  sorry  to  see  our  good  old 


CIRCUMSTANCE.  57 

friend's  purposes  broken  off;  but  what  can  we  do, 
Kachel?" 

"  Nothing  but  pray,"  she  said,  softly. 

"  Yes,  prayer  is  left,  and  it  is  mighty  to  save ;  but 
who  shall  say  in  what  path  the  salvation  cometh  ? 
Its  delivering  steps  perchance  tread  the  very  path 
of  our  fears,  the  way  of  our  disappointment.  '  If  it 
be  Thy  will,  0  Father!5  Think  on  these  words, 
beloved,  for  He  who  spake  them  found  no  escape 
from  the  cross  or  the  agony ;  shall  the  disciple  be 
above  his  master,  or  the  servant  above  his  lord  ?  " 

Rachel  sighed ;  for  her  own  sorrows  she  had  not  a 
complaint  when  Philemon  was  with  her,  but  she  had 
thrown  her  whole  heart  out  in  sympathy  with  the 
little  world  around  her  till  it  truly  seemed  as  if,  in  a 
finite  sense,  she  bare  their  griefs  and  carried  their 
sorrows. 

She  knew  Philip  Kent,  though  she  had  seen  him 
less  than  almost  any  other  transient  member  of  her 
husband's  parish;  but  her  perception  of  character 
was  keen,  and  she  did  not  thoroughly  trust  him ;  she 
would  not  willingly  have  seen  him  married  to  Esther. 
Her  sweet  soul,  too,  was  in  anxious  dread  just  now 
about  Sybil's  future ;  for  she  knew  by  report  that 
Colonel  Stonebridge  was  hovering  about  the  govern 
or's  mansion  with  intent  apparent  to  carry  away  its 
brightest  jewel,  and  well  she  knew  what  record  the 
Stonebridge  race  held  in  colonial  history,  what  wild 
blood  ran  in  their  veins ;  they  were  a  reckless,  god 
less  tribe;  wearing  all  the  polish  and  glitter  that 


58  STEADFAST. 

attracts ;  courtly,  debonair,  handsome,  and  quick 
witted;  here  and  there  a  woman  had  sprung  from 
this  black  soil  pure  as  a  lily  from  the  slimy  substra 
tum  of  a  shallow  pool,  but  the  legend  ran  that  Stone- 
bridge  men  were  granite  and  their  women  wax  ;  such 
a  race  was  no  garden  whereupon  to  set  the  rose  of  the 
Saltonstalls. 

While  Kachel  Hall  lay  pondering  these  things  in 
her  heart,  her  husband  having  betaken  himself  to  his 
study,  her  door  opened  and  in  came  Sybil  and  Esther. 
Their  bloom  and  freshness,  their  smiling  beauty,  and 
dainty  attire,  were  like  a  fresh  breath  of  life  to  the 
invalid ;  Esther  had  developed  a  taste  in  dress  hith 
erto  latent  for  want  of  means  and  observation,  but 
Mr.  Dyer's  ample  allowance  and  Sybil's  friendly 
hints  enabled  her  to  carry  out  her  ideas  ;  and  to-day 
in  her  rose-pink  chintz  gown,  and  little  white  cloak ; 
the  tiny  rose-wreathed  chip  hat,  set  aslant  on  her 
high-heaped  dark  hair,  yet  unpowdered;  her  face, 
warm  with  the  rich  glow  of  health  and  feeling ;  she 
was  as  fair  a  contrast  to  Sybil  in  her  sea-green  satin 
petticoat  and  pearl-colored  gown,  with  a  satin  hood 
to  match  the  petticoat,  drawn  about  her  head  and 
shoulders,  and  ruffs  of  rich  lace  at  her  throat  and 
elbows,  as  a  painter  ever  dreamed.  It  seemed  almost 
an  answer  to  Kachel's  tearful,  prayerful  thought  so 
suddenly  banished,  almost  a  warning,  when  Esther 
said,  with  a  ring  of  delight  in  her  voice,  — 

"  Dear  Aunt  Hall !  Philip  is  coming  home  to-mor 
row,  and  we  are  all  so  pleased  !  " 


CHAPTER   V. 

HERE. 

Well  I  know 
Thou  strikest,  like  Olympian  Jove,  but  once. 

UNCLE  DYER  had  gone  into  the  garden  to  inspect 
his  currant  bushes,  just  now  set  thick  with  branches 
of  fruit  which  the  sun  was  turning  here  and  there  a 
dusky  pink,  the  first  shade  of  their  ripe  crimson,  and 
Mrs.  Dennis  was  packing  away  blankets  in  the  cam 
phor  chest  upstairs  when  Philip  came ;  he  did  not 
come  by  the  coach,  but  rode  over  from  New  Haven 
where  he  had  landed  the  night  before,  on  a  strong 
dapple-grey  horse  he  had  bought  at  his  uncle's  re 
quest  to  replace  the  old  roan ;  a  purchase  that  had, 
as  he  wrote,  delayed  his  arrival  in  Trumbull  a  day 
or  two,  so  that  he  was  not  expected  definitely.  So 
Esther  was  alone  in  the  summer  parlor  when  he  came 
in;  filling  the  great  china  punch  bowl  with  those 
exquisite  old-fashioned  white  roses  almost  unknown 
to  florists  now,  but  like  Eve  in  Milton's  involved 
description 

"Loveliest  of  her  daughters." 

One  half-blown  bud,  holding  in  its  milky  cup  the 
mellow  saffron  tinge  of  dawn,  and  set  in  its  own  blue- 
green  leaves,  Esther  had  put  into  the  dark  rolls  of  her 

59 


60  STEADFAST. 

hair,  which  it  illumined  and  perfumed,  and  just  as 
Philip  entered  she  was  leaning  with  her  chin  in  the 
hollow  of  her  hand  over  the  mass  of  roses  before  her, 
delighting  her  eyes  with  their  perfect  dewy  loveliness, 
unconscious  that  she  herself  was  as  striking  as  the 
flowers.  Philip  stopped  on  the  threshold,  and  Esther 
looked  up  at  him;  a  gleam  of  recognition  banished 
the  dreamy  expression  of  her  eyes,  but  the  long  deep 
look  he  gave  her  arrested  her  in  a  moment ;  there  was 
some  strange  thrill  borne  on  that  cool  ray  into  her 
very  soul ;  the  quick  color  rushed  across  her  face,  she 
made  an  instinctive  effort  at  self-possession  and  said 
slowly,  "  You  are  Philip  ?  " 

A  keen  smile  twisted  his  lips"  oddly  ;  it  was  partly 
amusement,  partly  sarcasm,  but  she  was  too  unsus 
pecting  to  analyze  it. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  « I  am  Philip." 

"  I  will  go  and  call  Uncle  Dyer,"  and  with  that  she 
went  out  of  the  other  door  filled  with  a  strange  feel 
ing,  a  new  blind  consciousness  she  did  not  observe, 
or  therefore,  stop  to  interpret. 

Philip  Kent  was  not  a  man  to  attract  men  ;  he  was 
not  particularly  brilliant,  well  bred,  or  well  educated, 
nor  was  he  handsome  ;  his  features  were  coarse,  his 
stature  below  the  average  height  of  men ;  nothing 
about  him  was  remarkable  but  a  pair  of  almost  fem 
ininely  beautiful  deep-set  gray  eyes,  those  blue-gray 
eyes  that  have  in  them  the  deceit  of  blue  and  the 
perception  of  gray,  thoroughly  different  from  the  sea- 
gray  that  in  their  lucent  greenish  clarity  have  the 


HEBE.  61 

deep  sparkle  of  the  sea  still  shining,  and  mean  genius, 
passion,  purity,  and  strength. 

Still,  to  women,  there  was  something  curiously 
attractive  about  the  man,  something  so  intangible 
that  the  phrase  of  charlatanism,  "magnetic,"  comes 
nearest  to  its  description.  He  was  thoroughly  selfish, 
exacting,  and  self-conscious,  capable  of  a  certain  sort 
of  lasting  affection  for  anything  that  belonged  to  him, 
an  outgrowth  of  his  selfishness ;  and  a  man  who 
amused  himself  in  studying  and  drawing  out  charac 
ter,  pulling  the  strings  of  feeling  and  action,  experi 
menting  on  the  sacredest  emotions  and  passions  of  his 
kind,  as  if  the  world  were  his  puppet-show,  and  when 
his  marionettes  had  played  their  parts  to  his  satisfac 
tion,  throwing  them  aside  with  an  easy  manner  of 
idleness  and  custom,  as  if  indeed  they  were  painted 
wood  and  cloth,  and  had  not  hearts  and  souls  far  more 
capable  of  suffering  than  his  own. 

He  added  to  these  evil  traits  a  sort  of  careless  gen 
erosity  in  money  matters,  underlaid  by  the  minutest 
thrift  in  trifles  ;  it  gave  him  such  a  comfortable  sense 
of  superiority  to  lend  his  friends  money,  and  receive 
their  gratitude  ;  it  was  so  agreeable  to  be  admired, 
lauded,  spoken  of  as  the  best  friend  in  the  world,  that 
his  vanity  drank  and  was  satisfied,  though  of  costly 
draughts. 

But  to  women  perhaps  his  chief  charm  was  the 
romantic  confidences  always  given  in  charge  to  the 
reigning  favorite ;  his  misanthropy,  his  doubts,  his 
sufferings  —  always  his  —  were  poured  into  the  tender 


62  STEADFAST. 

and  sympathizing  soul  that  ached  with  and  wept  for 
him.  If  a  woman  is  a  true  woman,  nothing  is  so  be 
witching,  so  absorbing  to  her,  as  the  office  of  consoler. 
I  once  heard  a  man  say  of  a  certain  acquaintance,  "  If 
I  had  a  friend  who  wanted  Miss  Blank  to  fall  in  love 
with  him,  I  should  advise  him  to  break  his  leg  at  her 
door,"  and  what  he  thought  true  of  one  woman  is  in 
reality  true  of  almost  all.  None  of  them  paused  to 
observe  that  Philip  never  stirred  hand  or  foot  to  aid 
their  troubles,  or  found  any  interest  in  their  griefs. 
He  had  learned  in  his  intimate  friendships  many  a 
small  art  to  interest  the  young  girls  who  one  after 
another  played  at  friendship  with  him ;  he  could  tie 
up  flowers  like  an  artist ;  he  played  the  flute  with  as 
dulcet  strains  as  Apollo ;  he  danced  a  minuet  with 
consummate  grace,  and  was  learned  in  female  frip 
pery  such  as  laces,  gloves,  and  ribbons,  while  no  saint 
or  hero  could  evolve  in  language,  as  if  from  his  inner 
experience,  more  lofty  theories  or  nobler  sentiments 
than  this  man  who  knew  not  at  all  how  to  be  noble, 
high-minded,  or  really  generous. 

It  seemed  however  to  Esther  Dennis,  when  she  had 
brought  Uncle  Dyer  and  her  mother  in  to  welcome 
this  son  of  the  house,  and  set  herself  in  the  corner  to 
look  and  listen,  that  this  man  was  the  one  man  on 
earth.  There  are  those  doubters  who  say  that  love  at 
first  sight  is  a  myth,  the  nonsense  of  a  school  girl,  the 
dream  of  a  rhymester;  but  nevertheless  it  is  true 
that  this  is  first  love,  and  this  only.  This  full-born 
passion  that  strikes  the  heart  like  lightning,  and 


HEBE.  63 

makes  it  captive  with  one  blow,  is  the  Eros  of  classic 
anthology,  king  and  conqueror  by  divine  right.  Few 
indeed  there  are,  who  are  direct,  unworldly,  pure 
enough  to  receive  the  heavenly  visitation,  but  to  them 
it  is  life  or  death.  The  Cupid  of  men  and  women  at 
large  is  a  lesser  god  than  this  awful  and  beauteous 
shape  of  a  victorious  angel ;  he  is  a  thwart  and  mis 
chievous  baby  who  makes  confusion,  laughter,  mad 
ness,  brief  joy,  inconstant  passion,  idle  tears,  despair, 
weariness,  disgust ;  the  methods  of  his  warfare  and 
the  consequences  of  his  reign ;  annoyer  and  destroyer ; 
but  the  rightful  monarch  has  for  his  crown  faith, 
devotion,  trust,  truth,  reliance,  and  a  passion  pure  and 
solemn  as  the  silent  planets  in  a  night-blue  heaven, 
and  his  reign  is  like  the  reign  of  death,  once  and  for 
ever.  Whatever  wrong,  whatever  cruelty,  neglect, 
cold  acceptance  or  bitter  rejection  it  meets  with,  it 
still  lives,  like  the  shrinking  bulb  that  withdraws 
itself  into  the  humility  of  the  dust,  and  folds  its 
radiant  blossom  close  in  its  heart  while  winter  shames 
and  repels  it,  but  is  ready  to  spring  and  bloom  when 
the  sun  looks  and  smiles  for  it,  so  long  as  life  shall 
endure,  yet  even  that  life  will  die  of  too  long  hiding, 
perish  for  lack  of  light.  To  this  young  girl,  in  the 
first  dreamy  hours  of  her  womanhood,  so  the  king 
came.  All  night  long  from  her  sleepless  pillow  her 
great  dark  eyes  looked  at  the  starry  heavens  of  June, 
and  a  voice  in  her  heart  sang  over  and  over  "  Philip  ! 
Philip  !  dear  Philip  !  " 

It  did  not  seem  to  her  unmaidenly,  strange,  dread- 


64  STEADFAST. 

ful,  a  thing  to  be  resisted;  for  she  never  once  was 
conscious  of  herself.  Another  identity  filled  her 
heart  and  permeated  her  brain ;  she  was  in  a  sort  of 
wonderful  happy  trance,  and  when  at  last  the  sun 
shot  a  long,  bright  ray  athwart  the  coolness  of  her 
chamber,  full  of  the  rose-scented  air  of  the  night  and 
the  freshness  of  summer  dews,  she  felt  like  an  adorer 
in  the  adytum  of  a  temple,  unwilling  to  return  from 
the  high  converse  of  his  divinity  in  the  vaulted 
silence  of  that  sacred  abode,  to  the  dust,  the  glare, 
the  common  humanities  of  the  usual  day. 

Philip,  with  the  acuteness,  native  and  experimental 
both,  that  belonged  to  him,  saw  in  the  droop  and 
quiver  of  the  long  lashes  that  veiled  Esther's  eyes 
from  his  greeting  look  when  they  met  that  morning, 
some  part  of  her  thought;  he  certainly  understood 
that  his  usual  power  of  interesting  women  had  not 
failed  here ;  but  the  real  depth  and  strength  of  feel 
ing  he  had  awakened  he  did  not  at  all  appreciate. 
He  only  set  himself  to  be  pleasant  to  the  companions 
of  his  coming  life,  and  succeeded;  he  liked  to  have 
some  people  like  him,  not  the  crowd,  but  those  neces 
sarily  about  him,  for  so  his  life  was  made  more  com 
fortable,  more  exciting,  amusing,  and  less  wearisome. 
His  own  traits,  wants,  ideas,  occupied  him  it  is  true, 
most  of  the  time ;  but  he  had  not  yet  arrived  at  the 
age  when  all  other  things  fall  into  insignificance,  and 
the  voracious  "I"  of  the  egotist  becomes  his  own 
tyrant,  and  the  despot  of  all  around  him. 

Philip   Kent   soon   discovered    how   interesting  a 


HEBE.  65 

character  was  here  brought  into  contact  with  his  own  ; 
he  had  seen  women  before,  but  they  were  the  average 
sort  of  women ;  silly,  sensible,  or  only  commonplace 
and  pretty.  He  had  flirted  in  his  own  quiet  forcible 
way  with  many  another  girl,  but  Esther's  simple 
nature,  her  quick  intellect,  her  utter  girlishness 
untouched  by  folly  or  affectation,  her  devotion  to  her 
mother  and  Uncle  Dyer,  were  all  new  traits  to  him. 

He  had  before  gathered  his  flowers  from  the  garden ; 
cultivated,  conventional,  well-bred  posies,  proper  for 
nosegays,  to  make  life  bright  or  sweet,  —  while  they 
lasted ;  here  was  a  spray  from  a  wild  grapevine,  per 
fumed  with  the  very  breath  of  pure  nature,  full  of 
promise  for  the  future ;  and  he  devoted  himself  to 
the  new  exploration. 

It  is  so  easy  to  destroy  promise  and  performance, 
so  easy  to  gather  the  clusters  that  no  time  can  ever 
recall  to  fruitage,  or  even  restore  to  fragrance,  but 
who  thinks  of  it  in  the  eager  desire  to  make  that 
bloom  his  own  ?  Certainly  Philip  Kent  was  not  one 
of  those  rare  natures  that 

"  Loved  the  wild  rose  and  left  it  on  its  stalk." 

He  had  time  and  opportunity  enough  now  to  study 
Esther  at  his  leisure ;  the  dapple-gray  horse  was  a 
good  roadster  and  Uncle  Dyer  had  two  outlying  farms ; 
one  six  miles  further  on  the  shore,  where  he  still  bred 
a  few  horses  for  home  trade ;  another  three  miles 
inland,  a  sheep-farm,  where  his  flocks  whitened  the 
Connecticut  hills,  and  yielded  stores  of  heavy  fleeces, 


66  STEADFAST. 

both  for  sale  and  for  use  in  his  own  family ;  for  in 
those  days  the  plague  of  dogs  did  not  infest  the  coun 
try,  and  sheep  could  live  and  die  in  peace  when  every 
laboring  man  did  not  add  to  his  labor  and  expenses 
the  keep  of  a  ravening  cur,  like  unto  their  spiritual 
congener  who  "goeth  about  seeking  what  he  may 
devour  "  continuously. 

Many  an  errand  Uncle  Dyer  found  for  Philip  to  do 
at  the  Long  Beach  farm,  or  at  Hillside ;  and  almost 
every  day  Esther  was  offered  a  place  in  the  old 
chaise,  and  rolled  along  the  silent  green-bowered 
roads  talking  with  Philip;  or,  in  that  silence  more 
eloquent  than  words  for  which  the  air  has  an  echo, 
and  the  'stillness  of  the  woods  an  answer. 

Then  there  were  so  many  pleasant  walks  about  the 
village ;  there  were  paths  through  the  stunted  cedars 
and  scrub  oaks  that  led  down  through  tall,  glittering 
beach  grasses  to  the  clean  sand  and  abrupt  rocks  of 
the  shore. 

Was  Paradise  sweeter  than  those  long  moonlit 
evenings  on  a  buttress  of  granite,  with  the  quiet 
sea  breaking  and  recoiling  at  their  feet,  the  distant 
plash  and  rattle  of  a  row-boat's  oars,  the  long  celes 
tial  ray  upon  the  waters,  across  which  now  and  then 
flitted  the  ghostly  sail  of  a  coasting  vessel,  like  a 
dream  of  another  life?  Esther  was  as  one  who 
walked  in  her  sleep ;  the  daily  duties  of  life  began  to 
jar  upon  her,  she  went  less  often  to  see  Mrs.  Hall, 
she  had  little  time  to  walk  or  talk  with  Sybil  Salton- 
stall,  and  was  really  almost  glad  when  Sybil  went  to 


HERE.  67 

Albany,  — a  long  and  awful  journey  in  those  days,  to 
visit  her  aunt  there. 

Poor  Esther !  her  world  was  fast  narrowing  to  the 
measure  of  one  man  !  As  Philip  and  she  grew  more 
intimate,  and  he  poured  into  her  pitying  ear  the  sor 
rows  of  his  soul  —  sorrows  compounded,  be  it  said, 
of  selfishness  and  dyspepsia,  —  she  felt  for  him  that 
exquisite,  that  almost  supernatural  sympathy,  that  is 
the  child  of  pure  passion  and  utterly  selfless  affection. 
She  lay  awake  at  night  in  terror  lest  Philip  should 
commit  suicide  from  sheer  despair  of  happiness  ;  a 
hint  he  had  darkly  thrown  out  for  the  express  pur 
pose  of  seeing  how  it  would  affect  Esther ;  for  he 
would  not  have  cut  his  own  little  finger  on  any  con 
sideration  ! 

She  felt  for  him  that  divine  pity  that  is  only  possi 
ble  for  utter  love  to  feel ;  in  her  eyes  he  was  some 
thing  so  far  above  her,  even  in  his  sorrow,  that  she 
would  have  laid  down  her  life  to  serve  or  to  save  him, 
and  gloried  in  the  thought  that  she,  a  simple,  com 
monplace  little  country  girl  could  be  the  friend  of 
one  so  lofty,  so  good,  so  proudly  sad.  For  Philip  had 
imbued  her  with  those  stale  ideas  of  friendship,  a  tie 
stainless,  enduring,  rapturous,  with  no  tinge  of  earth 
about  it,  that  were  all  new  to  Esther,*  though  they 
were  the  staple  of  Philip's  conversation  with  women, 
and  their  use  had  enabled  him  for  years  to  make  pas 
sionate  love  under  the  pose  of  a  "friend."  Subtle 
disguise !  illusion  that  has  betrayed  and  broken  the 
heart  of  many  a  girl,  before  the  abounding  novel  had 


68  STEADFAST. 

portrayed  its  futility,  and  scoffed  at  its  method ;  we 
"  have  changed  all  that "  in  our  modern  wisdom  ;  one 
good  that  should  be  scored  for  the  luckless  novelist, 
so  scorned  and  denounced  by  the  "unco  guid."  It  was 
Eachel  Hall  whose  observant  eyes  first  discovered 
Esther's  condition.  Lying  there  on  her  pallet,  freed 
from  the  personal  experiences  of  life  wherein  the  soul 
is  driven  to  and  fro,  confused  and  perturbed  by  its 
own  emotions,  it  seemed  to  Aunt  Ruthy  who  had  also 
lived  her  life,  but  in  the  usual  fashion,  that  Rachel 
was  like  a  guardian  spirit,  who  sees  through  the  veil 
ing  mists  of  earth  the  vagaries  of  its  wayward  chil 
dren,  and  inspires  them  with  discretion  when  they 
need  guidance,  or  hope  when  they  would  else  des 
pair. 

Rachel  watched  Esther  with  a  yearning  of  that 
maternal  affection  denied  its  natural  channels  ;  she 
grieved  silently  over  the  distant  look  of  the  great  dark 
eyes  that  quickened  into  vivid  light  and  ardor  if  she 
heard  Philip's  step  or  voice ;  the  rapid  glow  of  color 
that  illuminated  her  pale  face,  the  brooding,  languid 
sweetness  of  her  voice ;  but  she  dared  not  speak  to 
her  with  any  questioning,  she  knew  too  well  how  dan 
gerous  it  is  to  force  open  a  delaying  bud,  and  so  blast 
it  with  premature  light.  Yet  in  her  wise  heart,  she 
distrusted  Philip  Kent,  and  dreaded  Esther's  future. 

Aunt  Ruthy  saw  and  understood  the  sad,  thoughtful 
face  she  wore  after  Esther's  visit. 

"  It  does  seem  hard  sometimes,  now  don't  it  ?  "  said 
the  good  woman.  "  to  think  we  can't  fix  other  folkses 


HEBE.  69 

ways  just  as  we  would  have  'em  to  be.  But  I  think 
likely  we  should  make  some  amazin'  blunders,  if  we 
could,  and  did.  The  Lord  made  'em,  and  he  certinly 
knows  best  how  to  manage  'em ;  and  it's  good  to  think 
He  doos." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

CLOUDY. 

Oh,  how  this  Spring  of  love  resembleth 
The  uncertain  glory  of  an  April  day. 

WHEN  winter  fairly  began  in  the  nominally  autumn 
month  of  November,  Philip  was  obliged  to  leave  Trum- 
bull  for  New  York,  to  manage  some  business  for  Uncle 
Dyer ;  Esther  parted  from  him  with  outward  tranquil 
lity  ;  no  one  knew  that  the  night  before  he  had  said  his 
farewell  to  her  on  the  way  from  "  evening  lecture," 
with  all  the  tender  words  —  of  friendship  !  —  that  her 
hungry  heart  could  ask.  Not  by  one  incautious  syl 
lable  had  he  ever  intimated  any  deeper  feeling,  any 
desire  for  a  dearer  tie  ;  he  had  pressed  Esther's  hand 
long  and  fervently,  he  had  paid  her  all  the  small  and 
thoughtful  attentions  a  lover  could  show,  he  antici 
pated  her  little  wants,  cultivated  a  knowledge  of  her 
tastes,  brought  her  nosegays  from  field  and  wood, 
dainty  leaf-baskets  of  fruit,  stores  of  nuts ;  he  helped 
her  gather  blossoms  for  her  bowpot,  and  perfumed 
leaves  for  her  pot-pourri  that  sent  out  its  quaint 
musty  odor  on  the  air  of  the  unfrequented  parlor,  and 
made  an  atmosphere  of  its  own  about  the  sea-green 
satin  furniture,  with  its  odd  gimp  borders,  the  Indian 
matting  on  the  floor,  the  "  hundred-legged  "  ebony 
tables,  the  wheezy  spinnet,  the  Chinese  dragons,  and 

70 


CLOUDY.  71 

the  alabaster  vases  on  that  high,  carved  mantel.  Yet 
Philip  had  never  said,  "  Esther,  I  love  you  !  do  yon 
love  me  ?  "  and  the  dreaming,  innocent,  ignorant  girl 
had  never  noticed  the  omission,  never  even  acknowl 
edged  to  herself  that  she  loved  Philip,  any  more  than 
she  had  said  to  herself,  "  I  breathe." 

Bnt  now,  in  the  awful  blank  that  his  absence  made, 
the  stillness  and  tastelessness  of  her  life,  she  began  to 
recognize  that  her  heart  had  gone  away  from  her  pos 
session  —  that  Philip  had  won  it  utterly  and  entirely. 

She  was  neither  introverted,  proper,  or  proud  ;  she 
was  a  girl  of  that  direct  and  simple  nature  which  is 
now  traditional  only  ;  she  was  glad  to  love  Philip,  to 
feel  that  she  had  given  him  her  whole  soul ;  she  nei 
ther  looked  forward  to  consequences,  or  considered  if 
he  returned  her  devotion;  it  was  enough  that  she 
loved  him,  and  the  sweet  absorbing  consciousness 
beguiled  her  grief  at  his  absence,  filled  her  dreams 
with  joy,  woke  with  her  in  the  morning  like  the  scent 
of  the  roses  that  June  had  breathed  into  her  window 
at  dawn,  filled  her  eyes  with  tender  light,  colored  her 
fair  face  with  roseate  bloom,  and  made  her  gracious 
and  sweet  to  all  about  her. 

If  her  mother  had  been  a  woman  of  suspicious  or 
penetrative  nature  she  would  have  witnessed  this 
change  in  Esther  with  dread;  but  ever  since  her 
husband's  death,  Mrs.  Dennis  had  seemed  wrapped  in 
the  past ;  she  was  perfect  in  all  her  duties ;  Uncle 
Dyer's  house  was  kept  in  the  extremest  order ;  flies 
dare  not  invade  any  room  therein,  and  spiders  found 


72  STEADFAST. 

their  occupation  gone  ;  dust  was  eliminated  from  the 
premises  as  fast  as  the  inconsiderate  air  deposited  it 
there ;  every  crack  in  linen,  every  rent  or  hole  in 
wearing  apparel,  was  exquisitely  darned,  and  when 
these  daily  tasks  were  over  she  sat  down  in  the  back 
porch  in  summer  or  by  the  "keeping-room"  fire 
in  winter  and  perused  "Boston's  Fourfold  State," 
"Jenks'  Devotion,"  Jeremy  Taylor's  "Holy  Living 
and  Dying,"  and  her  well-worn  Bible  by  turns ;  an 
Irishwoman  would  have  said  she  was  "makin'  her 
sowl,"  and  it  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
Protestant  shape  of  that  occupation.  She  was  natu 
rally  a  timid  woman,  and  her  husband's  death  was 
her  first  experience  not  only  of  loss  but  of  death 
itself,  for  she  was  too  young  to  remember  the  death 
of  her  parents ;  so  this  had  crushed  her  to  earth, 
filled  her  with  desolation,  and  absorbed  her  in  the 
contemplation  of  that  nearing  fate  for  herself,  and 
that  awful  veiled  eternity  to  follow,  that  she  must 
face,  and  for  which  she  must  prepare  herself.  So 
long  as  Esther  made  no  complaint  and  obeyed  her 
without  remonstrance,  when  she  set  her  to  certain 
household  tasks,  Mrs.  Dennis  saw  no  further ;  as  long 
as  Uncle  Dyer's  long  stockings  were  evenly  knitted 
and  well  shaped  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  those 
flying  needles  kept  time  to  a  fast  beating  heart 
all  ready  to  leave  every  other  tie  and  cleave  utterly 
and  solely  to  the  new  love. 

Uncle  Dyer,  grave,  reserved,  but  kindly  and  shrewd, 
perceived  the  matter  but  said  nothing,  for  it  was  his 


CLOUDY.  73 

hope  that  Esther  and  Philip  should  marry ;  he  had 
already  learned  to  love  this  girl  with  a  warmth  he 
supposed  his  old  heart  incapable  of  feeling,  and  when 
through  this  bitter  winter  he  watched  the  lovely 
dreaming  face  at  the  fireside,  or  beside  him  in  the 
sleigh,  for  she  always  accompanied  him  on  those 
drives  of  inspection  Philip  used  to  take,  he  thanked 
God  that  these  two  young  people,  both  so  dear  to 
him,  would  inherit  his  home  and  his  fortune  and  take 
the  place  therein  of  the  children  never  granted  to 
him. 

And  there^  was  another  inmate  of  the  household 
also  in  possession  of  Esther's  open  secret:  Delia 
Pratt  was  "  hired  girl "  in  Mr.  Dyer's  family,  and 
had  ruled  over  the  kitchen  for  the  last  ten  years ;  she 
was  one  of  those-  old-fashioned  servants  well  called 
"  help  "  a  capable,  brisk  woman  of  thirty,  her  crisp 
black  hair  knotted  tightly  on  the  top  of  her  head, 
and  secured  by  a  horn  comb.  Her  black  eyes,  high 
cheek  bones,  firm  chin,  well-colored  cheeks,  all  ex 
pressing  energy  and  strength  ;  while  the  sparkle  of 
her  eye,  and  the  dimple  of  her  cheek,  betrayed  an 
underlying  fund  of  humor  that  softened  the  other 
wise  harsh  traits  of  her  nature.  Her  reign  in  the 
kitchen  was  despotic,  even  Mrs.  Dennis  never  inter 
fered  there.  Delia  knew  just  what  Mr.  Dyer  liked, 
and  it  was  the  business  of  her  life  to  see  that  he  had 
it.  Nobody  in  Trumbull  could  make  such  pot-pie, 
such  baked  beans,  such  Indian  pudding,  such  rye 
bread,  or  such  shortcakes,  'lection  cake,  or  pound 


74  STEADFAST. 

cake  as  Delia  Pratt,  and  she  knew  it;  a  "b'iled 
dinner  "  was  her  glory ;  everybody  wanted  some  of 
her  "  empt'ins  "  to  set  their  own,  and  her  fresh  apple 
pies  were  an  unattainable  delicacy  anywhere  else. 

Her  own  especial  captive  and  slave  was  Hiram 
Perkins,  the  hired  man,  a  shock-headed,  slow,  honest 
creature,  who  "did  chores"  all  the  year  round  for 
Mr.  Dyer,  slept  in  the  "  shed  charmber,"  and  wor 
shipped  Delia  with  all  his  faithful  slow-moulded 
heart.  It  was  the  hope  of  his  life  that  some  day 
Delia  would  marry  him,  but  there  was  a  fatal  obsta 
cle  in  the  way ;  he  was  not  a  professor  of  religion, 
and  Delia  was  fixed  in  her  resolution  not  to  marry  a 
child  of  the  devil,  as  she  was  pleased  to  style  all  out 
side  her  own  church. 

"  Well !  "  said  the  remonstrant  Hiram,  "  I  can't  go 
an  j'ine  meetin'  ef  I  ain't  converted,  Delye,  now 
can  I?" 

"  I  dono  as  anybody  asked  ye  to  ! "  retorted  Delia ; 
tf  tain't  real  necessary  't  I  should  marry  ye,  as  I  know 
of.  I'm  reasonable  well  off  where  I  be ;  and  as  for 
havin'  to  do  with  a  hypocrite  why  'twould  be  worse'n 
Ananias  an'  Sapphiry,  in  the  Bible.  I  wish  you'd 
stop  tewin  around,  and  gettin'  in  a  swivet  about  a 
small  matter  like  that !  " 

"Tain't  real  small  to  me,  I'd  hev  ye  to  know, 
Delye,  and  I  don't  see  what  harm  it  would  do  ye  any 
way.  I  go  to  meetin'  real  reg'lar,  the  tithing  man 
never  pokes  me  neither ;  you  would't  lose  no  means 
of  grace  through  me.  I  ain't  no  ways  sot  aginst 


CLOUDY.  75 

religion  in  the  main ;  I  like  the  talk,  but  I  don't  like 
the  way  folks  perfess  an'  don't  perform.  I'd  be 
ashamed  to  say  I  was  convarted  an'  act  like  half  the 
folks  in  your  meetin'  that  do  perfess." 

"I  don't  calculate  to  marry  nobody  't  ain't  a  pro 
fessor,  any  way,"  sharply  answered  Delia.  "It's 
clear  forbid  in  the  Bible,  and  I'd  be  dealt  with  if  I 
done  it,  so  you  no  need  to  talk.  Land's  sakes  !  ain't 
you  well  off  where  you  be  ?  And  I  hope  I  don't  set 
by  no  man  livin,  enough  to  rile  me  a  mite,  if  I  can't 
marry  of  him." 

"  I  know  ye  don't !  I  know  ye  don't !  If  ye 
did"- 

The  possibility  was  too  much  for  Hiram.  He 
walked  off  dejectedly  to  the  barn,  and  Delia's  great 
wheel  flew  round  faster  than  ever;  certainly  if  she 
did  not  care  for  Hiram  she  cared  for  no  other. 

It  was  those  same  sharp  eyes  that  pierced  the  hired 
man's  heart  that  had  watched  the  progress  of  Esther's 
innocent  passion,  and  been  aware  of  it  even  before 
Esther  herself. 

Delia  did  not  like  Philip  Kent.  She  had  known 
him  from  a  boy,  and  arrived  at  a  juster  appreciation 
of  his  character  than  the  uncle  he  had  tried  to  please, 
for  the  sake  of  that  uncle's  possessions ;  or  the  vari 
ous  girls  he  had  made  love  to  for  his  own  amusement. 

He  had  no  special  reason  for  ingratiating  himself 
with  Delia ;  he  was  not  given  to  dainties  like  most 
boys ;  the  generous  and  savory  food  always  served  on 
his  uncle's  table  satisfied  his  appetite,  and  he  was 


76  STEADFAST. 

always  careful  of  liis  clothes.  Neither  did  any  innate 
generosity  prompt  him  to  give  Delia  anything,  since 
he  asked,  and  needed  nothing  from  her ;  and  she 
weighed  him  in  her  balance  without  compunction  or 
hesitancy. 

"  I  don't  take  no  stock  in  that  feller  ! "  she  confided 
to  Hiram.  "  I've  summered  him  an'  wintered  him, 
and  he  ain't  one  to  tie  to,  now  I  tell  ye  ;  the'  ain't  but 
one  God  an'  Lord  to  his  notion,  and  that  one's  name 
is  Philip  Kent.  Land !  I  hope  he  won't  go  to  makin' 
eyes  at  our  Esther  !  She's  jest  the  one  to  swaller  him 
whole  without  pepper;  and  she'd  jest  as  good  swaller 
p'ison." 

"  He's  a  perfessor,  though,"  dryly  remarked  Hiram. 

"  Well,  what  ef  he  is  !  Judas  was,  wa'n't  he  ?  I 
dono  as  I  ever  said  't  all  perfessors  was  Christians, 
but  I  don't  b'lieve  the's  any  Christians  thet  ain't  per 
fessors." 

Hiram  was  tossed  on  the  horns  of  this  dilemma 
effectually. 

"  Got  it  now,  hain't  ye  ?  "  chuckled  old  Isaac  Bun- 
nell,  who  had  come  in  to  the  shed  door  unperceived 
of  Delia,  after  a  dole  of  poke-berry  rum  for  his  rheu 
matism,  promised  by  Mr.  Dyer.  Delia  turned  on  him 
sharply. 

"  Is  it  a  concern  of  your'n  ef  he  has  ?  "  she  asked, 
with  a  wrathful  spark  in  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  now !  the  old  sayin'  is,  '  don't  ye  never  put 
in  betwixt  the  bark  and  the  tree  ; '  but  I  didn't  know 
as  Hi  was  so  clus  to  ye,  really  now  I  didn't ! " 


CLOUDY.  77 

The  angry  color  flooded  Delia's  face ;  but  she  had 
the  wisdom  to  hold  her  tongue  even  when  Isaac 
chuckled.  Hiram,  smiling  to  himself,  had  also  been 
wise,  and  stepped  out  of  the  back  door ;  he  was  slow, 
but  he  was  not  a  fool,  and  instinct  warned  him  not  to 
let  Delia  see  his  enjoyment  of  her  tell-tale  wrath. 

In  her  silent  fashion  Delia  too,  loved  Esther ;  she 
even  admitted  to  Hiram  that  she  "sot  by  that  girl 
considerable,"  which  meant  a  great  deal  from  Delia ; 
and  it  grieved  her  proportionately  to  see  how  Esther 
had  thrown  herself  away  on  Philip  Kent. 

"  I  can't  noways  help  it !  "  she  soliloquized,  as  she 
sat  by  her  kitchen  fire  at  night.  "  If  I  could  help  it 
'twouldn't  fret  me,  not  nigh  so  much.  When  you  can 
do  somethin',  either  to  help  or  hinder,  it's  a  comfort ; 
but  I've  jest  got  to  set  and  see  it  a  goin'  on,  an'  I 
know  what  it  '11  come  to !  Dear  sus  !  the  ways  of 
Providence  are  dreadful  mysterious,  as  Priest  Hall 
was  a  saying'  last  Sabba'  day ;  and  the  wust  of  it  is 
you  can't  neither  change  'em  nor  see  into  'em."  And 
with  a  sigh  over  the  inevitable,  Delia  raked  up  her 
fire  and  went  to  bed. 

Meanwhile,  Philip  was  enjoying  himself  after  his 
own  fashion  in  New  York.  He  was  well  known  there, 
and  being  a  personable,  well-to-do  youth,  made  an 
important  item  in  the  society  of  the  small  city ;  he 
found  many  a  pretty  girl  ready  and  willing  to  dance 
a  minuet  with  him  at  the  assemblies,  drive  with  him 
on  sleighing  parties  up  the  river,  or  play  spadille  and 
loo  in  the  formal  stuffy  parlors  of  the  comfortable 


78  STEADFAST. 

Dutch  houses,  afterward  refreshing  him  with  hot  flip, 
oly  koeks,  or  Indian  preserves  and  arrack  punch,  sup 
plemented  perhaps  by  a  hot  supper. 

If  Esther  on  her  sleepless  pillow,  thinking  of  him 
as  solitary  and  hard  working,  could  have  looked  in  on 
these  feasts  and  revels,  have  seen  his  cheek  flushed, 
his  eye  sparkling,  heard  the  low,  tender  whisper  in 
Annetje  Schuyler's  ear  as  he  turned  her  respectfully 
in  the  dance,  or  seen  the  embracing  arm  wherewith  he 
helped  Mina  Van  Alen  into  the  sleigh,  drawing  her 
closer  at  every  fresh  drift,  as  if  he  dreaded  an  over 
turn,  and  Mina  was  precious,  would  she  have  closed 
those  deep  eyes  so  tranquilly,  and  slept  so  calmly, 
even  in  the  repose  of  soul  that  came  of  her  ardent 
evening  prayer  ? 

Who  can  tell !  We  resent  once  and  again  the  bar 
riers  of  time  and  space ;  we  long  madly  and  rebel_ 
liously  to  see  and  hear  what  space  and  time  conceal 
from  us,  but  if  we  could  overleap  these  screens  of 
God,  would  it  not  always  draw  down  on  us  that  "  curse 
of  a  granted  prayer  "  that  is  the  worst  of  maledictions, 
since  it  is  of  our  own  procuring  ?  No,  Esther  was 
far  happier  in  her  own  love,  voiceless  as  it  was, 
in  the  dull  round  of  duties  which  gave  her  time  to 
dream,  in  the  rare  letters  Philip  sent  to  Uncle  Dyer, 
stiff  and  businesslike  as  they  were.  He  would  not 
write  to  her ;  he  would  not  commit  himself  so  far ; 
he  knew,  so  he  told  her,  that  of  course  her  mother 
and  perhaps  her  uncle  would  not  allow  her  to  receive 
any  letters  that  they  did  not  expect  to  see,  and  could 


CLOUDY.  79 

he  write  to  his  dear  little  friend  such  epistles  as 
might  be  read  by  every  one  ?  She  must  wait,  some 
better  day  would  come. 

Vague  promise  !  but  full  and  definite  to  Esther ; 
she  was  content  to  do  Philip's  will ;  confident  in  his 
wisdom;  certain  of  his  truth  and  goodness.  Philip 
was  not  surprised ;  he  expected  it ;  so  his  winter  in 
New  York  was  one  of  unsullied  enjoyment,  and 
Esther  said  to  herself  as  the  slow  days  dropped  away 
one  by  one,  "  It  is  almost  spring  ! " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CLEAR. 
Which  now  shows  all  the  glory  of  the  sun. 

AT  last  spring  came ;  not  in  the  sudden  splendor  of 
the  South,  but  shy,  delaying,  tender ;  bursts  of  cold 
rain ;  a  slow  greening  of  mosses  in  the  woods  ;  then 
a  chilly  south  wind ;  a  day  of  sleet ;  here  and  there 
hours  of  pale  sunshine ;  a  season  of  doubt,  of  feeble 
hope,  of  reluctant  promise,  but  still  spring.  The 
woo'ds  began  to  look  misty  with  gray  buds  ;  the  cow 
slips  in  the  swampy  meadows  opened  here  and  there 
a  yellow  star;  Esther  found  pink  buds  of  arbutus 
hidden  away  in  and  under  the  dead  grass  and  dry 
leaves  on  the  north  side  of  Pine  Eidge,  and  inhaled 
their  delicate  woodland  fragrance  as  if  it  were  a  mes 
sage  from  Philip.  Had  he  not  fetched  them  to  her 
the  year  before,  tied  up  with  graceful  brown  catkins 
and  whorled  stems  of  the  upright  ground  pine  ?  A 
gift  so  delicately  lovely  that  a  princess  might  have 
accepted  it,  and  in  Esther's  sight  an  expression  of  a 
love  she  unconsciously  believed  in/  With  the  spring 
came  Sybil,  more  beautiful  than  ever  to  Esther's  eyes, 
yet  more  reticent  than  ever.  She  said  little  about  her 
winter  in  Albany ;  once,  sitting  by  Mrs.  Hall's  bed 
side,  she  said  slowly,  — 

"  It  was  a  gay  winter,  Aunt  Rachel ;  there  are  good 
80 


CLEAR.  81 

store  of  youths  and  maidens  in  Albany ;  there  were 
balls,  and  sleigh  parties,  and  revels  enough.  I  have 
had  enough.  I  am  glad  to  be  beside  thee  again." 

"Dear  child,"  murmured  Eachel,  "And  was  there 
none  of  these  gallants  to  make  Albany  more  pleasant 
to  my  Sybil  than  this  small  village  ?  "  A  soft  color 
stole  into  Sybil's  cheek,  a  distant  look  into  her  eyes. 

"  Nay.  I  do  not  concern  myself  about  marriage  ; 
I  do  not  consider  it  as  a  state  desirable  for  me.  I 
have  had  my  lesson,  Aunt  Eachel." 

Rachel  Hall  held  her  peace  ;  the  unshed  tears  in 
those  clear  eyes  told  their  own  story  ;  had  John  Stone- 
bridge  proved  faithless  ?  or  unworthy  ?  Eachel  never 
knew  ;  yet  Sybil  was  but  repeating  Delia  Pratt's  expe 
rience.  So  strong  was  the  influence  of  religion  in 
those  days,  so  stringent  its  demands  on  its  professors, 
that  to  inarry  an  unbeliever  was  to  give  sure  proof  to 
the  church  and  the  world  that  the  professed  Christian 
so  transgressing,  had  no  part  nor  lot  in  the  church, 
and  must  either  be  dealt  with  and  brought  to  open 
confession  and  repentance,  or  cut  off  from  commun 
ion  and  fellowship  with  the  elect.  It  was  in  fact  a 
contempt  of  the  spiritual  courts.  But  Sybil,  daughter 
of  the  reverend  and  godly  Parson  Staltonstall,  of 
Long  Neck,  and  niece  of  Governor  Stanley,  a  man  as 
pious  as  he  was  profound  in  learning,  at  once  a  pillar 
of  Church  and  State,  was  trained  up  from  very  in 
fancy  in  the  straitest .  fashion  of  her  time, ;  and  sect. 
The  Westminster  Catechism  had  been  ground  into  her 
b^ain  an4;soul  fr.om  early  childhood ;  $b$  knew 


82  STEADFAST. 

chapters  in  the  Bible  by  heart ;  she  had  experienced 
religion  in  a  marked  and  wonderful  manner  at  the  age 
of  fourteen,  and  her  walk  and  conversation  were  those 
of  the  very  elect. 

Who  could  discern  in  this  beautiful  saint  that 
burning  enthusiasm  of  nature,  that  lofty  pride,  that 
stifled  ambition,  that  strength  of  passion  overborne  by 
greater  strength  of  will,  that  might  have  made  her  a 
canonized  saint  and  martyr  of  the  Eomish  church; 
or,  undisciplined  and  unguided,  the  empress  of  a  great 
nation,  herself  great  in  sin  and  tyrannous  in  power  as 
Messalina,  or  Cleopatra,  or  Elizabeth  of  England  ? 

Perhaps  John  Stonebridge  instinctively  recognized 
in  this  girl  the  elements  he  could  best  understand, 
suppressed  as  they  were  by  education  and  principle ; 
certain  it  is  that  he  made  himself  inexpressibly  inter 
esting  to  Sybil  by  appealing  to  springs  of  thought  and 
action  that  she  had  scarcely  known  in  herself.  But 
when  he  sank  from  the  theoretic  talk  of  politics, 
travel,  and  such  literature  as  was  fit  to  talk  of  to  a 
damsel  of  that  day,  and  implored  her  with  stormy 
bursts  of  passion  to  "  make  him  happy,'7  with  her 
heart  and  hand,  Sybil  recoiled.  His  oaths  of  love  and 
constancy,  his  beaming  eyes,  his  ardent  countenance, 
appalled  her,  for  they  shook  the  citadel  within,  and 
thrilled  her  with  the  consciousness  that  she  could  love 
him  even  as  he  swore  he  loved  her,  —  madly,  blindly, 
better  than  heaven  itself.  But  her  heart  was  resolute 
as  fervid,  and  her  faith  like  the  rocks  of  her  birth 
place  ;  she  held  no  parley  with  this  besieger ;  she 


CLEAR.  83 

gave  his  troop  no  entrance ;  all  her  lifelong  principles 
swarmed  to  the  rescue. 

"  No/7  she  said,  rising  from  the  tall  chair  where  she 
sat,  as  if  it  had  been  a  throne,  and  she  dismissing  a 
traitor ;  "  I  cannot  answer  you,  Colonel  Stonebridge, 
in  the  way  you  desire.  I  can  marry  no  man  who  is 
not  a  godly  man,  and  one  who  walketh  in  righteous 
ness." 

John  Stonebridge  muttered  a  sharp  oath  as  he 
looked  at  her  pale,  resolute  countenance. 

"  So  you  would  turn  me  out  to  pasture  among  the 
goats  forever,  because  I  bleat  not  like  a  sheep  ?  "  he 
said,  with  haughty  scorn.  "  Seemeth  to  me,  beautiful 
Sybil,  you  godly  ones  mete  out  hard  measure  to  us 
who  are  astray  in  the  wilderness." 

"It  is  the  measure  of  God,"  answered  Sybil, 
gravely.  "Doth  not  Scripture  say,  'How  can  two 
walk  together,  except  they  be  agreed  ?  '  and  is  it  not 
so  according  to  the  wisdom  of  this  world  ?  " 

"  But  how  know  you  that  I  might  not  learn  of  you 
to  walk  in  that  straight  way  ?  "  he  said ;  for  that  face 
before  him  grew  more  and  more  beautiful  as  contend 
ing  emotions  swept  across  it  as  cloud  shadows  across  a 
limpid  lake,  and  his  whole  nature  longed  with  almost 
uncontrollable  passion  to  make  this  stately  beauty 
return  his  devotion.  Sybil  looked  away  from  him  ; 
over  the  outer  fields  of  spotless  snow,  the  sky  arched 
blue  and  clear ;  she  looked  up  into  heaven  for  help 
against  herself  ;  had  John  Stonebridge  known  it,  that 
moment  had  for  him  one  frail  hope  of  victory ;  her 


84  STEADFAST. 

heart  pleaded  for  his  specious  argument,  her  soul 
refused  it ;  old,  well-known  words,  repeated  over 
and  over  so  often  with  so  little  knowledge  of  their 
awful  need  and  meaning  flashed  across  her  doubtful 
thought :  "  Lead  us  not  into  temptation,  deliver  us 
from  evil."  A  spasm  of  agony,  a  look  of  stern 
strength,  in  turn  passed  across  her  expressive  face. 

"  I  may  not  do  evil  that  good  may  come  ;  else  were 
my  damnation  just,  according  to  the  word  of  the 
Lord." 

"  So  I  am  to  take  my  damnation  at  your  hands  ! 
Well,  beautiful .  saint  j  save  your  own  soul,  and  send 
me  to  the  devil  if  you  will ;  but,  hark  ye  !  you  throw 
aside  a  bliss  you  know  not  of,  a  rapture  you  will 
taste  not  again :  for,  Sybil,  had  you  listened  to  your 
woman's  heart  instead  of  your  Puritan  conscience,  I 
would  —  for  I  could  —  have  made  you  more  blessed 
than  the  angels  you  dream  of,  or  the  heaven  you 
strive  so  hardly  to  earn." 

Sybil  shuddered;  she  could  endure  those  blazing 
eyes,  those  bitter,  godless  words  no  longer;  she 
turned  away  and  left  him  without  a  word.  Swearing 
savagely,  John  Stonebridge  left  the  house,  his  sword 
clattering  on  the  high  stone  steps,  as  he  ran  down  to 
the  river-edge,  flung  himself  into  his  waiting  boat, 
and  was  rowed  out  to  the  British  sloop  riding  at 
anchor  in  the  river,  just  ready  to  sail  for  New  York 
with  her  load  of  peltry. 
Sybil  went  up  ..to  her  chamber,  and,  locking  the 

v  flung  t  herself  on  the.  floor  in  a  tempest  of  agony ; 


CLEAR.  85 

what  words  shall  ever  tell  the  strife  of  passion  and 
principle  that  can  rack  such  a  woman's  heart  with 
all  but  mortal  torture  ?  She  knew  John  Stonebridge 
had  spoken  true  in  that  last  scoff.  Every  fibre  of  her 
nature  cried  out  for  him  as  the  crown  and  comple 
ment  of  her  natural  life ;  all  the  waves  and  billows  of 
pain,  doubt,  loss,  of  thwarted  love,  and  denied  pas 
sion,  tossed  her  as  if  by  torrid  hurricanes  on  a  raging 
ocean ;  but  her  will  held  firm,  a  mighty  cable  ;  and 
her  anchor  was  caught  in  the  clefts  of  a  rock.  "  It 
was  right !  it  was  right/7  sung  the  howling  storm, 
and  that  one  echo  kept  her  soul  alive.  Was  it  strange 
that  she  should  tell  Kachel  Hall  that  she  had  "  had 
her  lesson  ?  " 

Martyrdom  is  grand,  but  the  martyr  suffers ;  his 
flesh  and  blood  are  even  as  ours,  my  brethren ;  fire 
can  burn  them  and  steel  wound,  just  as  we  are  burned 
and  wounded  ;  and  the  exaltation  of  soul  that  sup 
ports  unto  death,  would  not,  does  not,  always  last 
through  a  lifetime ;  it  is  the  slow  martyrdoms  of  liv 
ing  that  earn  the  surest  psalms,  and  vindicate  most 
effectively  the  faith  of  those  who  endure  to  the  end. 

Esther  Dennis  could  not  have  done  this ;  she  had 
not  the  moral  stamina  or  the  spiritual  training  of 
Sybil  Saltonstall ;  with  her,  love  would  still  be  "  lord 
of  all"  in  whatever  guise  it  came.  She  was  a  typical 
woman,  full  of  tender,  unhesitating  devotion,  of  ab 
sorbing  love ;  of  selfless  sacrifice ;  if  in  her  nature 
there  was  that  touch  of  earth  called  passion  it  was  so 
slight,  so  pure,  so  unconscious,  that  its  reign  would  be 


86  STEADFAST. 

brief  and  bright,  never  tempestuous  ;  but  her  devoted 
affection  could  never  be  chilled  or  alienated  so  long 
as  it  was  cherished  or  returned. 

When  Philip  came  back  to  Trumbull  shortly  after 
Sybil's  return,  he  could  not  but  be  touched  by  the 
undisguised  delight  Esther  innocently  showed  in  her 
welcome.  No  man  could  have  looked  coldly  on  those 
lovely  glowing  dark  eyes,  that  speaking  face  lit  with 
tender  joy,  or  refrained  from  holding  in  warm  clasp 
those  trembling  little  hands,  so  soft,  so  clinging,  so 
exquisitely  feminine  in  touch  and  tint.  Philip  was 
flattered  and  therefore  moved  ;  it  was  a  tribute  to  his 
own  good  qualities,  his  charms,  his  character,  all  this 
devoted  feeling,  and  it  amused  and  pleased  him ;  how 
could  he  help  enjoying  it  ?  He  even  so  far  forgot 
his  ordinary  policy  that  coming  upon  Esther  that 
soft  May  evening,  as  she  sat  alone  with  her  happiness 
on  the  porch,  gazing  at  the  stars  through  the  screen 
of  honeysuckle,  and  thinking  only  of  Philip,  he  sat 
down  beside  her  on  the  bench,  put  his  arm  around 
her,  lifted  the  drooping  head  and  pressed  on  those 
sweet,  pure  lips  a  long,  loving  kiss ;  the  first  that  had 
ever  touched  their  cool  crimson  from  the  lips  of  man. 

There  was  silence  after  that ;  Esther's  dreams  had 
culminated ;  rapture  laid  its  spell  upon  speech ;  she 
could  not  speak ;  Philip  would  not. 

To  her  that  kiss  was  a  solemn  betrothal ;  innocent 
as  a  baby  in  its  cradle,  she  thought  no  man  would 
kiss  a  woman  he  did  not  mean  to  marry,  and  in  ac 
cepting  that  caress  she  felt  that  Philip  had  asked  her 


CLEAR.  87 

to  be  his  wife  and  she  had  consented ;  her  soul  was 
hushed  with  bliss,  her  heart  at  rest  forever.  Poor 
child !  she  had  yet  to  learn  that  earth  has  no  forever. 

As  for  Philip  he  was  pleased  too ;  such  an  easy 
triumph  was  quite  to  his  taste  ;  no  fuss,  no  resistance, 
no  coyness ;  evidently,  she  liked  it  and  so  did  he. 
"  On  n'  arrdte  pas  dans  un  si  beau  chemin,"  and  after 
that,  Esther's  moonlight  walks  with  Philip  were 
marked  with  long  pauses  in  the  shadows  of  the  great 
pines  on  the  point,  or  beside  the  rocks  of  the  cliff, 
where,  with  her  head  on  her  shoulder,  and  his  kisses 
on  her  face,  she  seemed  to  drink  her  fill  of  that  cup 
which  all  mortals  pine  for  with  the  thirst  of  despera 
tion,  but  only  a  few  taste,  and  still  fewer  drain  to  its 
bitter  dregs.  That  Philip  said  nothing  of  a  future 
together,  made  no  plans  of  life,  called  her  no  tenderer 
name  than  "  dear  Esther,"  counted  for  nothing  to 
Esther's  simplicity ;  she  had  read  no  novels,  even 
Clarissa  Harlow  and  Sir  Charles  Grandison  being 
"  conspicuous  by  their  absence "  from  her  uncle's 
library ;  and  ignorant  as  innocent,  she  took  it  for 
granted  that  Philip  meant  to  marry  her. 

And  perhaps  he  would  have  done  so  had  her  trust 
in  him  been  less  implicit,  her  love  less  easy  to  win, 
more  difficult  of  expression;  but  just  now  he  took 
the  sweetness  of  the  present  moment  with  a  sense  of 
irresponsibility  delightful  to  his  selfish  soul ;  and  she 
basked  in  that  "  glory  of  the  sun  "  that  does  now  and 
then  illuminate  even  "the  uncertain  glory  of  an 
April  day,"  and  asked  of  life  nothing  more. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AT    MIDNIGHT. 

Evening  never  wore 
To  morning,  but  some  heart  did  break ! 

AFTER  Sybil  had  come  back  to  her  old  quiet  life  in 
the  governor's  mansion,  she  began  to  long  for  her 
dead  mother.  Beautiful  Sybilla  Stanley  had  become 
the  mother  of  three  children  during  her  marriage 
with  Priest  Saltonstall,  but  her  two  boys  died  in 
early  infancy,  and  all  her  motherly  heart  had  been 
lavished  on  Sybil.  It  is  true  she  tried  her  best  to 
conceal  this  affection  from  its  object ;  stern  coun 
sellors  warned  her  that  she  would  love  her  child 
too  much;  her  creed  bade  her  beware  of  making 
earthly  idols,  lest  they  should  be  broken  in  the 
shrine  by  a  jealous  God,  who  would  be  first  in  the 
hearts  of  his  creatures,  and  demanded  a  sacrifice  of 
natural  affection  as  the  only  propitiation  of  his  favor ; 
but  mother-love  is  too  powerful,  too  possessing,  to  be 
hid  or  stifled.  Sybil  knew,  as  well  as  if  she  had  been 
fed  with  caresses  and  fond  words,  how  her  mother 
loved  her ;  that  is,  as  well  as  a  child  can  know ;  for 
who  that  has  not  felt  it  can  ever  know  the  abundant 
patience,  the  selfless  devotion,*  the  all-forgiving,  all- 
enduring,  fervent  love  of  a  mother?  He  who  made 
it  the  symbol  of  his  own  affection  in  the  pathetic 


AT   MIDNIGHT.  89 

words,  "As  one  whom  his  mother  comforteth,  so 
will  I  comfort  you,"  alone  can  fathom  it.  But 
when  her  daughter  was  twelve  years  old,  a  sharp 
fever,  bred  of  the  sun-smitten  swamps  about  Long 
Neck,  assailed  Mrs.  Saltonstall  so  suddenly  and 
fiercely,  with  such  delirium  and  exhaustion,  that  the 
physician,  called  in  as  soon  as  he  could  be  found,  had 
no  hope  of  her  life  from  the  first  look.  She  died, 
unconscious  and  speechless,  with  no  farewell  for  hus 
band  or  child,  and  broken-hearted  Sybil  was  taken 
home  to  Connecticut  by  her  Uncle  Stanley ;  for  her 
father  could  not  look  upon  that  fair  face,  the  very 
likeness  of  his  lost  wife,  or  bear  to  hear  the  passion 
ate  eobs  that  pierced  even  the  solemn  gloom  of  the 
study,  where  he  sat  with  his  head  on  his  hands,  striv 
ing  by  prayer  and  fasting  to  conquer  the  rebellious 
grief  that  cried  out  to  God  and  against  Him,  "  Why 
hast  thou  done  this  ?  " 

There,  in  the  stillness  of  that  lonely  house,  he  lived 
for  years,  while  Sybil  found  a  home  at  her  Uncle 
Stanley's;  there,  he  died  suddenly  and  alone,  one 
hand  clasping  a  miniature  of  his  wife,  the  other  rest 
ing  on  his  open  Bible,  when  Sybil  was  seventeen ;  not 
much  to  her  loss,  for  he  had  been  absorbed  in  his 
duties  before  her  mother's  death,  and,  though  he 
never  acknowledged  it,  he  had  also  resented  all  those 
years  the  fact  that  this  girl  had  lived  and  his  boys 
both  died.  And  when  his  wife  left  him,  he  lost  all ; 
neither  prayer,  nor  fasting,  nor  hard  work,  nor  devo 
tion  to  his  duties,,  availed  to  reconcile  him  to  that 


90  STEADFAST. 

loss.  When  his  faithful  servant  found  him  sitting 
cold  and  dead  at  his  study  table,  his  hand  on  that 
open  Bible,  she  bent  with  superstitious  curiosity  to 
see  where  that  stiffened  and  bony  index  finger  pointed 
on  the  sacred  page.  It  had  stopped  its  slow  progress 
at  these  words  of  Job,  — 

"Know  now  that  God  hath  overthrown  me,  and 
compassed  me  with  his  net. 

"  Behold  I  cry  out  of  wrong,  but  I  am  not  heard ;  I 
cry  aloud,  but  there  is  no  judgment. 

"  He  hath  fenced  up  my  way  that  I  cannot  pass,  and 
he  hath  set  darkness  in  my  paths. 

"  He  hath  stripped  me  of  my  glory,  and  taken  the 
crown  from  my  head." 

Words  that  Sybil  in  her  present  stress  of  soul 
might  also  have  made  her  own,  for  she  inherited 
from  her  father  that  combatant  strength  of  spirit, 
that  stern  judgment,  and  that  reserve,  which  were 
his  chief  characteristics ;  somewhat  modified  in  his 
daughter  by  her  feminine  organization,  and  that 
mental  difference  of  the  sexes  as  certain  and  in 
eradicable  as  their  physical  variation. 

So,  all  alone  in  this  small  world  of  Trumbull,  quite 
unable  to  tell  her  trouble  to  any  one,  Sybil  set  herself 
to  fight  out  her  battle  with  life.  Perhaps,  in  time, 
she  might  have  shown  so  much  of  her  heart  to  Eachel 
Hall  as  to  receive  from  her  counsel  and  consolation, 
but  Rachel  after  years  of  patient  suffering  began  to 
fail,  and  was  obliged  to  see  fewer  people  than  ever, 
and  to  talk  but  very  little ;  the  subtle  and  remorse- 


AT   MIDNIGHT.  91 

less  disease  that  had  cramped  and  distorted  her 
limbs  and  joints,  now  attacked  her  slow-beating  heart, 
and  she  became  subject  to  shortness  of  breath,  faint- 
ness,  and  a  dreadful  exhaustion  at  times,  from  which 
it  was  hard  to  rally. 

Still,  she  gave  one  short  utterance  of  help  and 
strength  to  Sybil,  for  her  eyes  were  clearer  than  ever 
now  to  perceive  the  need  of  those  she  loved,  and  her 
heart  clave  to  Sybil  more  strongly  than  ever  as  sJie 
saw  the  darkness  of  sorrow  in  her  lucent  eyes,  its 
rigidity  on  that  fair  young  face  that  had  been  so 
played  upon  by  every  fancy  and  feeling 

"  That  you  might  almost  say  her  body  thought." 

The  last  time  that  Sybil  stood  beside  her,  looking 
at  the  pure  outline  of  that  pain-worn  countenance 
with  a  peace  past  all  understanding  on  its  wan  linea 
ments,  and  a  glow  of  unearthly  love  shining  in  the 
great  sapphire  eyes,  Eachel  took  the  girl's  hand  in 
her  slender  lingers  and  whispered,  — 

"  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens,  and  so  fulfil  the 
law  of  Christ." 

The  words  entered  Sybil's  ear  only,  but  afterward 
they  found  a  place  in  her  heart  and  life  ;  she  discov 
ered  that  her  sole  escape  from  the  cruel  hunger  that 
consumed  her,  was  in  sharing  and  alleviating  the  woe 
about  her ;  for  her  own  sorrow  there  was  no  relief,  for 
her  no  solace  in  all  time  ;  she  too  had  yet  to  learn 
that  earth  has  no  forever.  That  same  day,  to  that 
same  bed  of  death,  came  Esther ;  her  hands  filled 


92  STEADFAST. 

with  late  roses,  her  face  shining  with  the  great  joy  of 
her  heart,  a  creature  full  of  life,  love,  and  the  glory 
of  youth's  vast  beatitude.  As  she  stood  by  Rachel 
Hall,  the  two  showed  like  a  rich  red  rose  in  the  garden 
that  glows  and  blooms  in  splendid  pride  beside  a 
smitten  lily  drooping  to  its  grave.  To  her  Rachel  had 
also  a  whispered  message ;  though  it  were  the  word  of 
the  Lord,  it  smote  almost  cruelly  on  Esther's  ear,  as 
she  stooped  to  gather  its  broken  accents,  — 

"  The  world  passeth  away  and  the  lusts  thereof,  but 
he  that  doeth  the  will  of  God  abide th  forever." 

Solemn  words,  like  the  knell  and  echo  of  a  passing 
bell ;  words  that  would  return  to  her  like  the  long, 
melancholy,  vibrating  thrill  of  that  bell,  when  she  too 
should  have  "  had  her  lesson  "  as  well  as  Sybil.  Only 
two  nights  after,  Aunt  Ruthy  woke  Parson  Hall  and 
called  him  to  Rachel,  for  at  midnight  there  was  a  cry 
made  :  "  Behold  the  bridegroom  cometh,  go  ye  out  to 
meet  him." 

And  when  Philemon  looked  at  his  wife  he  recog 
nized  the  Presence,  and  his  heart  sank  within  him. 

But  Rachel  was  tranquil  as  a  summer's  dawn ;  the 
lines  of  pain  were  gone,  her  face  was  lit  with  a  celes 
tial  smile.  Deeper  still  would  Philemon's  heart  have 
sunk  had  he  known  how  Rachel  welcomed  this  hour. 
Lying  there,  helpless  and  useless,  as  she  thought,  all 
these  years  (for,  few  in  number,  they  had  seemed  a 
lifetime  to  her),  she  had  learned  slowly  what  she  had 
not  been  to  her  husband ;  how  utterly  useless  as  a 
wife ;  how  great  a  burden  on  his  position,  his  means, 


AT    MIDNIGHT.  98 

his  affection ;  and  while  she  admired,  respected,  and 
loved  him  better  every  day  for  his  patience  and  tender 
ness,  for  the  wonderful  delicacy  that  never  by  word 
or  look  showed  weariness  or  regret,  for  the  devout 
and  heartfelt  religion  that  had  taught  and  comforted 
her  own  dismayed  and  doubting  soul ;  she  knew  that 
her  death  would  release  him  from  an  unnatural  bond 
age,  a  heavy  weight  of  care,  and  leave  him  free  to 
live  the  full  life  of  a  happy  man,  the  husband  of  some 
sweet,  capable,  woman,  the  head  of  a  Christian  house 
hold.  Had  there  been  any  hope  of  recovery  held  out 
to  her,  she  might  never  have  arrived  at  this  saintly 
attainment,  but  no  physician  had  ever  enlarged  her 
prospect  this  side  the  grave,  and  with  unspeakable 
pangs,  continual  prayers,  tears  that  moistened  her 
pillow,  and  that  strong  crying  of  the  soul  that  has 
"  no  speech  nor  language,"  whose  "  voice  is  not  heard," 
she  had  wrestled  with  the  longings  of  the  natural 
heart  for  life  and  love,  the  terror  of  death  and  the 
grave,  the  doubts  and  fears  of  a  noble  spirit  hampered 
by  suffering  flesh,  and  at  last  prevailed.  Now  her 
reward  was  at  hand  !  Never  in  this  world  would  she 
know  that  her  life  had  been  a  spiritual  training  to 
Philemon  Hall  of  invaluable  service;  the  stringent 
circumstances  that  enforced  on  him  self-denial,  self- 
restraint,  that  led  him  up  into  a  mountain-top,  even  if 
it  brought  to  him  temptation,  had  so  strengthened  his 
soul,  so  inured  it  to  the  strait  and  narrow  way,  so 
caused  him  to  endure  hardness,  that  he  had  grown  to 
be  a  good  soldier  in  the  Lord's  army,  and  gathered  to 


94  STEADFAST. 

himself  a  power  and  persistence  of  character  that  an 
ordinary  experience  of  life  could  never  have  given 
him.  It  was  to  her  unconscious  ministry  that  he 
owed  also  a  diviner  patience  than  commonly  falls  to 
man  :  her  unfailing  sweetness,  her  gentleness  that  was 
not  the  result  of  a  feeble  nature,  but  that  strong  gen 
tleness  that  comes  of  seeing  things  from  the  stand 
point  of  absolute  faith  and  long-tried  love  of  God,  her 
simple,  sublime  endurance  of  pain  that  might  have 
daunted  a  martyr,  all  these  had  wrought  within  him  a 
pity  and  an  awed  admiration  that  made  him  ashamed 
at  his  own  impulses  of  perversity  or  petulance. 

"If  this  weak,  tortured  woman  can  smile  and  be 
calm,  shall  not  I,  a  man,  think  shame  of  myself  if  I 
am  quick  of  spirit  with  any  who  sin  or  suffer  ?  "  was 
the  voice  of  his  thought,  and  she  who  considered  her 
self  the  clog  and  cross  of  this  man's  life  was  truly 
his  greatest  blessing,  his  guide  and  helper.  Would 
the  first  breath  of  that  other  life  reveal  to  her  this 
reality  ?  Would  it  be  the  earliest  rapture  of  heaven 
to  know  that  she  had  been  a  real  ministering  spirit  to 
her  husband  ? 

Certainly  she  knew  it  not  now,  as  Philemon  knelt 
beside  her,  and  took  her  burning,  transparent  hand 
in  his  ;  her  only  thought  was  of  and  for  him  ;  her 
strength  and  joy  a  union  of  her  pure  delight  in  his 
unfettered  future,  and  a  longing  to  be  free  herself  and 
forever  with  the  Lord. 

Yet,  as  she  looked  at  that  head  bowed  down  beside 
her,  one  last  pang  of  human  affection  rent  her  spirit ; 


AT    MIDNIGHT.  95 

the  actual,  the  visible,  the  long-accustomed  life  and 
love  sent  a  mighty  wave  of  regret,  and  a  terror  of 
separation  over  her ;  Aunt  Kuthy  saw  the  tears  well 
up  and  dim  the  solemn  brightness  of  her  great, 
pathetic  eyes ;  but  then  Philemon's  troubled,  broken 
voice  arose  in  prayer. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  Thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place  in 
all  generations.  Before  the  mountains  were  brought 
forth,  .  .  .  from  everlasting  to  everlasting,  Thou  art 
God!" 

He  broke  down  then ;  to  him,  as  to  his  race  and 
time,  the  tenderness  and  strength  of  Christ  were  yet 
to  be  revealed ;  a  sort  of  Theism  was  their  positive 
faith,  while  they  were  theoretically  Trinitarian ;  God 
the  Father,  the  Judge,  the  Lord  of  Hosts  was  their 
God ;  the  Friend,  the  Brother,  touched  with  human 
infirmities  ;  knowing  by  His  human  experience  every 
agony  of  humanity,  every  infirmity  of  the  flesh,  every 
woe  of  the  spirit,  was  yet  a  dead  letter ;  but  Eachel, 
in  the  long  silences  of  her  sequestered  suffering,  had 
been  taught  of  that  comforting  Spirit  who  takes  of 
the  things  of  Christ  and  interprets  them  to  the  soul ; 
now,  on  the  stillness  her  voice  arose,  clear  and  sweet, 
as  it  had  not  been  heard  for  many  a  long  month. 

"  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled !  Ye  believe  in 
God,  believe  also  in  Me." 

Philemon  raised  his  head,  and  looked  at  her  ;  a 
divine  light,  a  look  of  glory,  a  smile  that  reconciled 
earth  to  heaven  and  said  at  once  farewell  and  wel 
come,  flashed  radiantly  across  her  face ;  the  feeble 


96  STEADFAST. 

fingers  closed  tightly  on  his,  then  those  wan,  white 
eyelids  quivered  and  drooped,  her  grasp  relaxed,  a 
little  fluttering  sigh  escaped  her  parted  lips,  and  an 
awful  quietness  descended  on  the  delicate,  weary  linea 
ments.  Rachel  Hall  had  gone  home. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

AFTER. 

That  voice  which  I  did  more  esteem, 
Than  music  in  its  sweetest  key : 
Those  eyes  which  unto  me  did  seem, 
More  comfortable  than  the  day ; 
Those  now  by  me  as  they  have  been, 
Shall  never  more  be  heard  or  seen ! 

WITH  all  the  strength  of  soul  that  he  possessed, 
Philemon  Hall  nerved  himself  to  preach  his  wife's 
funeral  sermon.  It  was  not  unusual  in  those  days  for 
a  minister  to  do  so,  though  it  was  not  always  ex 
pected  ;  but  he  felt  that  since  a  sermon  was  cus 
tomary,  he  could  not  endure  the  handling  of  Rachel's 
character  and  memory,  sacred  as  they  were,  by  any 
one  who  had  not  known  her;  and  who  could  know 
her  as  he  did  ? 

This  same  delicate  instinct  made  him  forbid  that 
any  hand  but  Aunt  Ruthy's  should  prepare  that 
wasted  body  for  the  grave,  or  fold  it  in  its  last  habili 
ments  ;  and  he  himself  carried  the  inanimate  shape 
from  the  couch  that  had  been  her  earthly  habitation, 
in  his  arms,  like  a  sleeping  child,  and  laid  it  tenderly 
in  the  coffin.  As  he  looked  at  the  wan  chrysalis,  from 
which  the  bright,  informing  spirit  had  fled,  and  felt 
that  those  loving  and  lovely  eyes  would  never  meet 
his  again  with  their  look  of  life  and  sweetness  that 

97 


98  STEADFAST. 

had  always  welcomed  him;  that  never  again  would 
those  set  lips  smile  at  his  coming,  or  return  his  tender 
words ;  that  this  yellow  pallor  of  death  could  not 
change  to  the  white  transparence  of  a  lily's  petal,  or 
that  dull  gold  hair  fall  in  its  rich  beauty  about  her 
face ;  or  the  delicate  fingers  clasp  his  hand  with  cling 
ing  and  faithful  affection ;  the  full  consciousness  that 
this  cold,  unanswering  shape  was  not  his  Rachel 
smote  his  inmost  soul :  but  with  the  blow  came  heal 
ing  ;  the  word  of  the  Lord  sung  a  triumphant  anthem 
within  his  brain  :  "  Awake  and  sing,  ye  that  dwell  in 
dust ;  for  thy  dew  is  as  the  dew  of  herbs,  and  the 
earth  shall  cast  out  her  dead ! "  And  from  these 
words  he  spoke  to  those  who  had  gathered  in  the 
church  to  do  honor  once  more  to  Rachel. 

It  seemed  wonderful  to  all  hearers  that  Parson  Hall 
could  preach  with  such  lofty  tranquillity  a  discourse 
that  was  full  of  appreciation,  of  tenderness,  and  of 
gratitude  to  his  wife ;  that  it  should  be  almost  trium 
phant  in  its  recognition  of  the  fact  that  she  had  but 
arisen  from  earth  to  heaven  was  not  so  wonderful ;  it 
was  orthodox  and  proper  that  he  should  so  speak; 
but  they  had  expected  that  he  would  weep  in  a  decent 
manner,  that  his  voice  would  tremble  and  his  words 
choke  him ;  the  calm  deep  sadness  that  stilled  both 
face  and  voice  was  not  understood.  To  Sybil  it 
seemed  like  the  renewed  tolling  of  that  passing  bell 
which  had  beaten  out  on  the  morning  air  the  news 
of  Rachel's  death,  so  mournful,  so  unimpassioned,  yet 
so  thrilling  was  his  sermon;  to  Esther,  throbbing 


AFTER.  99 

with  youth,  love,  and  incipient  passion,  it  was  like 
the  chill  of  a  slow-falling,  silent,  snowstorm :  she 
asked  herself  if  she  were  to  die  if  Philip  would  be 
so  calm,  so  self-possessed  ?  and  felt  indignant  that 
even  of  herself  she  could  ask  such  a  question. 

But  neither  she  nor  Sybil  could  fathom  the  real 
state  of  mind  in  which  Mr.  Hall  preached.  It  was 
not  a  wife  whom  he  had  lost,  but  a  suffering  saint 
whose  shrine  had  been  in  his  house ;  the  elusive 
shadow  of  his  earliest  love ;  the  disappointment  and 
the  blessing  of  his  life.  No  pang  of  thwarted  mortal 
passion  rent  his  soul ;  no  loss  of  that  entire  intimacy 
known  to  no  other  relation  of  life,  disturbed  him ;  he 
mourned  as  one  might  who  had  entertained  an  angel 
not  unawares,  but  conscious  that  its  flight  upward 
was  a  certainty,  however  it  might  be  delayed.  Per 
haps  Aunt  Ruthy  felt  her  loss  most  deeply ;  her 
constant  care  of  the  delicate,  gentle  creature ;  the 
motherly  love  that  had  grown  toward  her  daily  more 
and  more ;  the  continual  watch  and  ward  lest  even 
the  air  should  visit  her  too  roughly,  or  the  sun  smite 
her  with  too  fierce  heat ;  all  these  had  lost  their  occu 
pation,  their  end  and  aim ;  her  heart  cried  out  for  her 
charge  as  a  mother's  for  its  baby ;  and  her  eyes  kept 
her  heart  company,  as  she  sat  in  the  front  pew  and 
beheld  that  fair  waxen  shape  lying  in  its  formal 
shroud  below  the  pulpit,  that  the  congregation  might 
by  and  by  take  their  last  farewell  of  the  minister's 
wife,  whom  all  spoke  well  of  by  report,  and  whom 
the  few  that  knew  her  admired  and  loved.  After 


100  STEADFAST. 

the  wail  and  woe  of  funeral  psalm  and  hymn  were 
over,  and  the  parish  had  said  farewell  to  that  impas 
sive  shape  for  all  time,  the  bearers  took  up  the  coffin 
and  bore  it  to  the  near  graveyard.  Even  there,  beside 
the  yawning  earth  that  was  to  receive  this  new  dust, 
Philemon  Hall  preserved  his  quiet  self-possession,  he 
saw  the  sods  piled  above  that  forsaken  body,  he  im 
plored  the  usual  blessing  upon  the  few  spectators, 
and  turned  away  to  his  empty  home  without  a  sigh,  a 
tear,  a  quiver  of  feeling,  on  his  composed  countenance. 

"  Takes  it  real  cool,  don't  he  ?  "  remarked  Hiram 
to  old  Isaac  Bunnell,  who  shook  his  grizzled  head  in 
dissent. 

"You  can't  allers  tell:  not  allers.  There's  some 
water  runs  dreadful  still  because  its  deep ;  an'  some 
because  the'  ain't  no  stun's  into  it.  I  mistrust  the 
parson  is  kinder  stunned,  as  ye  may  say ;  same  as  a 
hen  is  when  ye  ketch  it  by  the  legs  and  swing  it 
round  sudden',  so's  to  cut  its  head  off.  'Fliction  is 
kind  of  curus ;  it  don't  hurt  nothing,  at  the  fust  go 
off,  to  what  it  does  come  to  set  down  and  chaw  on't. 
His  hard  time  is  a  comin' ;  he's  uplifted  now  to 
heaven  on  the  p'int  of  a  privilege,  as  Domine  Witter 
used  to  tell,  and  he  don't  see  nothin'  but  t'other 
world ;  but  he's  got  to  come  down  to  the  mill-grindin' 
an'  the  wood-choppin'  of  this  here  mortal  state  pretty 
consider'ble  quick,  and  then  he'll  sense  his  'fliction. 
I've  seen  'em  before.  I  saw  old  Priest  Saltonstall 
when  his  wife  up  an'  died ;  I  went  over  there  with 
the  coffin ;  why  he  was  as  straight  up  an  down  as  a 


AFTEE.  101 

rake-tail,  an'  as  hard  as  a  nether  mill-stone.'  Well, 
come  to  think  on  't,  he  ain't  to  the  p'int  mither,  for 
he  never  got  over  it ;  I  have  heerd  that  he  couldn't 
never  forgive  the  Lord  for  afflictin'  o£  him.  I  dono 
as  that  made  any  difference  to  the  Lord ;  but  'twas 
kind  of  unpleasant  for  the  parson  to  feel  so,  I  expect. 
But  there's  all  sorts  of  folks  in  the  world,  and  its  no 
great  use  to  be  a  studyin'  of  'em,  an'  gabbin'  about 
'em  ;  I'd  ruther  hoe  corn." 

With  which  brief  sentiment  Isaac  turned  on  his 
heel  and  left  Hiram  a  little  confounded;  his  slow 
mind  had  not  grasped  the  train  of  Isaac's  rather 
desultory  remarks. 

"  What  be  you  a-gawpin'  at  ?  "  asked  Delia,  sharply, 
as  she  came  by  him  in  her  usual  brisk  fashion. 

"  Well,  I  was  just  considerin'." 

"  Hurry  up  then,  do.  I  want  a  lot  of  oven-wood  for 
to-morrer  mornin',  and  the  corn  had  ought  to  be  hoed 
right  off.  Folks  have  got  to  go  to  funerals,  I  s'pose, 
and  I  gener'lly  expect  to  go,  but  they  do  take  up 
time  !  " 

Hiram  obeyed  orders  and  trotted  off ;  while  Delia 
poured  out  her  soul  to  a  crony,  Sophronia  Smith  by 
name,  ruler  and  governor  in  the  Stanley  kitchen,  a 
mild,  stout,  easy  creature,  as  different  from  Delia  as  a 
pincushion  is  from  a  pin,  and  just  as  intimate  as  those 
two  opposing  articles  are. 

"  He's  so  biddable,  Hiram  is,  that  it  kinder  riles  me 
Sophrony ;  I  hate  to  see  menfolks  run  an'  ride  when 
ever  you  tell  'em,  without  a  peep  or  a  mutter." 


102  STEADFAST. 

"  Mabbe,  you'd  hate  it  wuss  if  they  didn't,"  chuckled 
Sophronia. 

"  I  dono,  I  douo.  Seems  as  if  I'd  ruther  be  like 
that  blessed  cretur  we've  ben  a  buryin'  of,  than  to  be 
a  bossin'  round  some  man  or  another  !  She  jest  lay 
there  and  kep'  a  prayin'  and  a  smilin',  and  he  done 
for  her ;  he  was  the  master.  I  think  its  nateral  for 
womenfolks  to  be  kind  of  coddled  an'  took  care  of ; 
not  to  stan'  for  head  of  the  fam'ly ;  now  Hiram  won't 
never  be  no  head  to  nobody." 

"  Don't  ye  be  too  sartin,  Delye,  I  ain't  real  spry 
myself,  but  I  can  see  out  o'  my  eyes  ;  men  is  quite 
different  while  they're  on  the  anxious  seat,  as  you 
may  say,  from  what  they  be  when  they've  got  into 
the  saddle  ;  Hiram  is  wait  in'  on  you,  now,  he'll  show 
out  what's  in  him  when  you  get  to  waitin'  on  him." 

"Hm  !  "  said  Delia,  "it'll  be  long  days  first." 

They  had  reached  the  Dyer  house,  and  further  con 
fidences  ceased ;  for  Uncle  Dyer  called  out  to  Delia  to 
ask  where  Hiram  was,  and  to  give  her  a  message  for 
him,  and  Sophronia  waddled  away  to  the  governor's 
mansion. 

These  verdicts,  unrestrained  in  their  expression  by 
the  ties  of  friendship  or  the  sense  of  reverence  that 
sealed  other  lips,  were  nevertheless  the  judgment  of 
many  another  who  listened  to  that  sermon;  but  as 
time  wore  on,  and  Parson  Hall's  grave  face  settled 
into  sadder  and  deeper  gravity,  his  friends  began  to 
see  that  his  great  loss  was  greater  to  him  than  they 
had  supposed. 


AFTER.  103 

He  felt  more  and  more  how  much  the  presence  of  a 
saint  like  Rachel  had  been  to  him  ;  he  longed  for  her 
wise  and  tender  counsel,  for  the  never-failing  comfort 
of  her  smile  and  voice,  for  the  strength  wherewith 
her  patience  and  courage  girded  up  his  own  soul,  and 
armed  him  for  his  daily  duties.  Yet  even  in  death 
she  blessed  him  ;  he  could  enter  into  the  sorrows  of 
his  flock  with  an  actual  sympathy  that  he  or  they  had 
never  before  known  ;  his  prayers  with  the  sick  had  a 
deeper  fervor,  a  more  consoling  faith  than  ever  ;  and 
the  pathos,  the  trust,  the  tenderness  of  his  funeral 
services  were  known  beyond  his  parish,  and  required 
by  many  a  mourner  as  a  consolation.  Sybil  deeply 
felt  her  loss  in  this  ever-ready  friend  ;  her  aunt,  the 
governor's  lady  was  an  imperious,  strong-willed,  proud 
woman,  though  she  had  a  large,  generous  nature,  and 
a  heart  capable  of  passionate  affection ;  but  she  was 
not  sympathetic,  and  Sybil  was  not  of  her  blood; 
she  did  not  try  to  understand  her,  and  did  not 
enjoy  her  reserve  and  pride,  so  different  from  her 
own. 

Madam  Stanley  had  a  fine  lively  temper  of  her  own ; 
if  things  went  awry  with  her  she  would  fling  the 
spoons  from  the  table  to  the  floor,  stamp  her  small 
foot,  tear  off  her  lace  cap  and  fling  it  into  the  fire, 
and  indulge  in  the  like  vagaries ;  for  which  Sybil, 
with  the  relentless  judgment  of  a  girl,  despised  her 
aunt's  want  of  self-control,  and  made  known,  by  look 
and  -manner,  her  profound  contempt  for  such  ill-breed 
ing  and  vulgar  fury.  This  was  not  altogether  sooth- 


104  STEADFAST. 

ing,  as  may  be  imagined,  to  Mrs.  Stanley's  self-love, 
and  though  the  strict  outward  respect  for  their  elders 
in  which  young  women  were  educated  in  that  day, 
prevented  any  open  rupture  between  Sybil  and  her 
aunt,  there  was  no  love  there,  and  not  the  least  sym 
pathy.  Sybil  had  spent  many  an  hour  by  Rachel 
Hall's  bedside,  soothed  by  her  tender  affection,  quieted 
by  her  words  of  counsel  and  love,  and  never  had  she 
needed  that  rest  and  strength  more  than  now,  when  it 
failed  her  ;  she  recoiled  into  herself,  fought  her  battle 
alone  and  silently,  with  an  aching  heart  and  a  re 
solved  soul,  and  became  a  woman  before  her  real 
girlhood  had  passed. 

Esther,  too,  missed  Rachel ;  something  as  we  all 
regret  a  beautiful  creature,  who  recalls  to  us  the  fact 
that  there  is  a  sphere  of  loftier  intellect  and  purer 
souls,  than  that  in  which  we  move,  but  her  strongest 
feeling  was  for  Mr.  Hall ;  in  the  fulness  of  her  own 
life  and  love  she  could  measure  what  his  loss  might 
be  ;  she  had  forgiven  him  the  manful  self-restraint  of 
his  sermon,  now  that  his  sad  visage  demonstrated  that 
he  did  really  feel  that  loss,  and  she  showed  in  the 
softened  look  of  her  dark  eye,  and  the  delicate  consid 
eration  of  her  voice  and  manner  toward  him,  that  she 
sorrowed  for  him. 

Now,  too,  she  was  beginning  to  have  her  own 
troubles ;  Philip  was  called  away  oftener  on  business 
than  ever  before,  and  when  alone  with  her  he  was  too 
often  moody,  abstracted,  perhaps  petulant.  If  she 
asked  him  in  the  gentlest  manner  what  ailed  him, 


AFTER.  105 

he  made  a  sharp  or  evasive  answer.  The  thorns  of 
this  rose-wreath  began  to  fret  poor  Esther,  who  was 
so  dazzled  with  the  garland  she  had  not  reckoned 
with  the  nature  of  roses.  Nor  did  he,  though 
lavish  of  secret  caresses  and  soft  words,  make  any 
open  or  positive  avowal  of  a  desire  to  marry 
her;  she  lived  in  a  real  fool's  paradise,  conscious 
of  the  paradisaic  part,  but  not  of  the  folly ;  and 
he  played  with  her  as  with  a  toy,  that  having 
been  somewhat  enjoyed  has  ceased  to  have  the 
charm  of  freshness,  and  is  a  matter  of  course,  but 
only  a  toy  at  that. 

Besides  this,  Uncle  Dyer  was  not  well ;  he  had,  in 
the  midst  of  that  summer's  brightness  and  bloom,  a 
slight  shock  of  paralysis  ;  it  was  only  a  few  days  of 
confusion  and  trembling,  a  few  weeks  of  one  languid 
hand  and  arm,  one  drooping  eye,  and  he  was  himself 
again ;  but  he  knew  that  he  had  received  his  first 
warning,  and  with  quiet,  Christian  courage  he  ac 
cepted  it. 

More  than  ever  was  he  tender  to  Esther,  but  he 
rarely  spoke  of  Philip,  who  had  gone  to  New  York  to 
attend  to  the  business  there. 

Some  anxiety,  unexpressed,  yet  painful,  seemed  to 
occupy  his  mind ;  and  after  a  week  or  two  he  sent  for 
Squire  Peters,  the  village  lawyer,  and  had  a  long  inter 
view  with  him.  Two  days  after,  the  squire  came 
again,  and  his  son  was  with  him.  Parson  Hall  was 
with  Mr.  Dyer,  and  remained  during  the  interview. 
All  the  family  but  Esther  knew  very  well  what  this 


106  STEADFAST. 

meant,  but  she  was  always  and  ever  dreaming  of 
Philip,  longing  and  waiting  for  his  return ;  the  pres 
ent  condition  of  things  about  her  was  vague,  and  did 
not  interest  her ;  so  they  all  waited,  and  held  their 
peace. 


CHAPTER  X. 

FRAUD. 

How  many  things  which  for  our  own  sake  we  should  never  do, 
do  we  perform  for  the  sake  of  our  friends. 

AT  last  the  blow  fell.  One  cool  August  day,  Uncle 
Dyer  was  found  on  the  library  floor,  speechless, 
motionless,  and  unconscious.  The  doctor  was  called 
in  haste,  Delia  and  Hiram  lifted  Mr.  Dyer  on  to  his 
bed  in  the  next  room,  and  Mrs.  Dennis  took  charge 
of  him. 

Hitherto  a  silent,  sad,  reticent  woman,  devoted  to 
her  sample  duties  in  the  household,  and  undemonstra 
tive  to  a  painful  degree,  the  widow  now  stepped  into 
the  place  she  could  best  fill.  With  a  sudden  develop 
ment  of  faculties  long  kept  in  abeyance,  she  proved 
that  her  one  talent  was  that  of  nursing.  She  took 
possession  of  this  patient,  and  ruled  over  him  and 
his  room  with  a  steady  judgment  and  strict  care  of 
detail  that  seemed  incredible  to  the  rest  of  the 
family. 

"  It  beats  all ! "  said  Delia,  confidentially  to  Hiram. 
"I'd  always  giv'  her  credit  for  bein'  as  near  nobody 
as  the  Lord  allows  human  creturs  to  be,  and  lo,  you ! 
she's  got  the  skercest  kind.o'  faculty.  I've  always 
considered  that  I  could  do  a'most  anything  I  turned 
107 


108  STEADFAST. 

my  hand  to,  but  I  couldn't  no  more  fix  up  that  bed- 
charmber  the  way  she  doos  it,  nor  keep  things  there 
so  still,  an'  cool,  an'  handy,  than  I  could  fly." 

"Well,  now,  I  bet  you  could,  Delye.  /  never  see 
nothin'  yet  but  what  was  nateral  to  you  to  do,  ef  you 
undertook  it;  and  to  do  it  up  real  well." 

"  Oh,  sho  !  you  go  long  ! " 

But  the  smile  that  curled  Delia's  decided  lips,  and 
the  quick  color  on  her  cheek,  denied  the  repellent 
words. 

Poor  feminine  nature  !  a  little  shining  chaff  deludes 
it  better  than  any  dull  handful  of  solid  grain ! 

Aunt  Euthy,  too,  gave  in  her  adhesion  to  Delia's 
opinion,  when  at  Mr.  Hall's  request  she  had  been 
up  to  the  Dyer  house  to  offer  any  help  she  could 
give. 

"I  found  I  couldn't  do  a  thing,  Mr.  Hall.  Mis' 
Dennis  has  got  everything  just  right ;  after  all  these 
years  I've  been  out  a  nursing,  I  couldn't  find  a  fault. 
Its  wonderful!  wonderful!  If  the  poor  man  could 
take  notice,  he  would  like  it.  Clean  as  a  pantry,  an' 
tidy  as  a  parlor,  that  room  is  ;  and  no  more  noise  in  't 
than  a  spider  makes  spinnin'  her  web.  But  I  don't 
like  his  looks ;  he  lies  like  a  log,  and  his  face  has  got 
a  kind  of  purplish  shade  to  it  that  isn't  what  it  had 
ought  to  have,  not  by  no  means !  I  don't  believe  he'll 
ever  get  up." 

"I  think  so  myself,  Miss  Kuthy.  I  fear  not;  he 
has  already  over-lived  the  allotment  of  man,  —  three 
score  years  and  ten.  We  have  no  reason  to  expect 


FRAUD.  109 

recovery  at   that   age;   it  is  but  borrowed  time,  at 
best,  that  lies  before  him." 

Aunt  Ruthy  looked  up  at  the  minister  as  he  said 
this ;  stalwart,  erect,  with  health  shining  in  his  dark 
eyes,  and  vigor  expressed  in  every  motion  and  atti 
tude  ;  not  yet  beyond  the  half  of  those  years  he  was 
pleased  to  call  man's  "  allotted  "  time,  because  David 
spoke  of  it  as  the  average  length  of  life.  She,  who 
was  old  enough  to  be  his  mother,  thought  how  easy  it 
was  for  youth  to  point  out  the  limitations  of  age ;  and 
while  her  busy  lingers  knit  away  at  a  pair  of  blue 
yarn  stockings,  her  mind,  like  a  veritable  woman's, 
went  over  all  the  possibilities  included  in  Uncle 
Dyer's  probable  death.  What  would  become  of  Mrs. 
Dennis  and  Esther  ?  She  knew  that  Mr.  Dyer  had 
made  a  will  quite  lately,  for  Mr.  Hall  had  been  called 
in  to  witness  it,  and  mentioned  the  fact  to  Aunt 
Ruthy  as  a  reason  for  being  late  that  day  to  dinner. 
He  had  done  the  same  service  for  Mr.  Dyer  once 
before,  soon  after  Mrs.  Dyer's  death,  before  Esther 
and  her  mother  came  to  Trumbull ;  so  it  was  a  fair 
inference  in  Aunt  Kuthy's  opinion,  that  the  later  will 
had  been  made  in  order  to  provide  for  these  relatives  ; 
for  she  had  read  in  Uncle  Dyer's  face  the  strong 
affection  he  had  learned  to  feel  for  Esther;  though, 
like  his  race  and  his  time,  he  never  expressed  it  in 
words.  But  what  would  Philip  say,  thought  this 
wise  old  woman,  to  any  division  of  the  inheritance 
with  these  new-found  relatives. 
...She  did  not  even  consider  the  idea  that  his  inter- 


110  STEADFAST. 

ests  and  Esther's  might  be  one,  for  she  had  no  faith 
in  him  either  as  friend  or  lover ;  in  the  course  of  her 
long  and  observant  life  she  had  seen  too  many  of  his 
type,  the  sort  that  "  loves  and  rides  away,"  not  to 
recognize  it  easily  ;  indeed  it  was  one  of  this  kind 
who  had  shipwrecked  her  life,  in  her  early  youth, 
when  she,  like  Esther,  had  loved,  with  a  devotion  that 
knew  no  limits,  and  a  passion  that  rejoiced  in  self- 
sacrifice,  a  man  who  had  lied  to  and  deserted  her. 
She  had  spent  an  ordinary  lifetime  in  remorse,  humil 
ity,  service,  and  regret ;  yet  to-day  she  shuddered  as, 
recalling  the  past,  she  foreboded  Esther's  future. 

Esther  herself  was  as  unhappy  as  a  dreamer  in  a 
vision  of  bliss  could  be  made  by  exterior  things  ;  she 
loved  her  uncle,  and  she  was  grieved  to  lose  the  com 
fort  of  his  kind  face  and  steady,  friendly  voice,  but 
she  was  so  little  experienced  in  sickness  that  she  did 
not  feel  his  danger,  or  consider  his  death  as  possible, 
and  old  Doctor  Parker  did  not  even  tell  Mrs.  Dennis 
his  real  opinion  of  the  case. 

"  I  trust  he'll  rally,  ma'am  !  yes,  oh  yes.  The  vital 
forces  are,  as  you  may  say,  in  —  ah,  —  yes,  in  retire 
ment,  ma'am.  The  mass  of  his  mortality  is  not  really 
affected  ser'ously ;  no  ma'am.  We  must  look  for  a 
rally  ;  yes,  yes,  a  rally.  Let  me  know  when  there  is 
a  change.  Good-day,  good-day." 

And  this  oracular  utterance  was  all  he  vouchsafed 
to  the  women  of  the  family.  To  Parson  Hall  he  was 
more  confiding.  Esther  had  forgotten  in  Philip's 
absence,  as  she  always  did  forget  when  he  was  not 


FRAUD.  Ill 

with  her,  the  little  troubles  of  his  recent  conduct ; 
and  she  was  full  of  joy  when  she  heard  from  Mr 
Hall  that  he  was  expected  home  at  once,  for  he  had 
now  been  absent  six  weeks.  She  did  not  know  that 
Dr.  Parker  had  ordered  his  return.  Nor  was  she  per 
fectly  happy  when  he  came  ;  beyond  his  natural  grief 
and  consternation,  there  was  a  hurried  apprehension 
in  his  manner,  an  excitement,  an  evident  distress, 
that  disturbed  her ;  he  was  perhaps  more  affection 
ate  than  ever  when  they  were  alone,  but  that  subtle 
and  defensive  instinct  which  is  a  solitary  woman's 
only  aid  in  matters  of  the  heart,  warned  her  dumbly 
that  he  was  thinking  of  something  beside  her  and  her 
love,  even  amid  his  caresses.  After  a  day  or  two  had 
passed,  during  which  Uncle  Dyer's  condition  had  not 
changed  at  all,  Philip  said  it  was  needful  that  he 
should  go  out  to  Long  Beach  farm  to  see  about  some 
sheep  he  had  sent  there  from  New  York,  and  asked 
Esther  to  ride  with  him.  It  was  a  lovely  day ;  warm, 
tranquil ;  the  sky  pure  in  its  lofty  azure,  only  flecked 
here  and  there  by  a  soft,  white  cloud,  floating,  like 
the  thistledown  that  imitated  it  below,  in  a  silvery 
silence  ;  the  lanes  were  full  of  the  perfume  a  hot  day 
in  August  beguiles  from  odorous  pine  boughs,  spiked 
clethra  blossoms,  aromatic  bushes  of  sweetbriar  and 
bayberry,  the  tips  of  red  cedar,  and  the  last  water 
lilies  that  linger  in  shady  pools  among  the  swamps  of 
the  shore  country.  Yet  soothing  as  the  air,  the  quiet 
landscape,  the  distant  murmur  of  the  sea  all  were, 
Esther  felt  an  indefinite  uneasiness ;  for  Philip  was 


112 


STEADFAST. 


silent,  his  face  gloomy,  his  eyes  fixed  on  some  distant 
point  that  yet  he  seemed  not  to  perceive,  and  his 
brows  knitted  and  scowling.  After  a  speechless  drive 
of  two  or  three  miles,  Esther  could  not  bear  the  still 
ness  between  them  any  longer ;  she  laid  her  hand 
gently  on  her  lover's  arm. 

"Philip/'  she  said,  with  the  most  timid  sweetness 
"What  is  it?  can  I  help?" 

Philip  turned  round  and  throwing  his  arm  about 
her  pressed  her  to  his  side  with  sudden  violence. 

"Esther!  I  am  out  of  myself  with  apprehension, 
You  know  that  I  have  always  been  brought  up  as 
Uncle  Dyer's  heir.  After  my  aunt's  death  he  re-made 
the  will  that  had  left  his  property  to  her,  and  made 
it  in  my  favor ;  but  of  late  he  has  been  somewhat 
disaffected  towards  me ;  I  have  not  made  money  so 
fast  as  he  would  have  me ;  there  have  been  certain 
liabilities  overdue  by  men  whom  I  have  trusted,  that 
he  was  displeased  about ;  and  this  Parson  Hall  hath 
gotten  his  ear,  and  set  his  mind  earnestly  toward 
building  a  new  meeting-house  here,  as  I  am  well 
informed,  a  matter  that  will  deprive  me  of  more  than 
half  the  property,  and  cripple  me  for  years. 

"  Do  not  think,  my  girl,  that  I  care  so  much  for  the 
money  alone,  but  it  will  mar  my  future  fatally ;  how 
can  I  bear  to  put  off  for  years  the  home  I  desire  ? 
How  can  I  ask  any  woman's  hand,  when  I  must  bring 
her  to  poverty  ?  " 

Esther  could  have  answered  this  question  with  all 
-.her  fieart:  Philip,  in, poverty  would  be  even  dearej  to 


FRAUD.  113 

her  than  with  such  riches  that  she  could  not  help  or 
serve  him  ;  but  maidenly  reserve  sealed  her  lips ;  she 
only  blushed  to  her  temples,  anc],  said,  — 

"  Are  you  sure,  Philip,  that  Uncle  Dyer  has  made  a 
will  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  Abner  Peters,  the  squire's  son,  was  an  old 
crony  of  mine,  and  for  some  reason  owes  me  a 
grudge.  I  met  him  in  the  street  t'other  day,  and  he 
flung  it  at  me  that  the  squire  had  made  a  will  for  my 
uncle  that  cut  me  off  with  a  shilling.  And  was  not 
the  squire  closeted  with  my  uncle  but  a  short  time 
before  this  sickness." 

"Yes,"  said  Esther. 

"  And  was  not  Parson  Hall  there,  and  Ab  Peters 
fetched  in  as  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  remember  it  well.  Delia  spoke  of  it 
when  I  was  sealing  up  plum  conserve  in  the  kitchen. 
I  thought  no  more  of  it,  but  now  I  do  remember  that 
she  said  Squire  Peters  was  with  Uncle  Dyer,  and  she 
mistrusted  'twas  about  his  last  will,  and  she  liked  it 
not,  for  it  foreboded  death." 

"  But  too  well !  and  here  is  death  at  hand ;  the  old 
meeting-house  is  still  strong,  it  needeth  but  small 
repair,  I  would  take  that  in  hand  myself ;  but,  Esther, 
can  you  wonder  that  I  am  a  desperate  man  so  to  be 
cut  off  from  my  life's  best  hope  by  the  devices  of  a 
man  like  Priest  Hall,  who  hath  as  much  of  a  man's 
life  as  a  fence-post  in  his  saintly  body  and  cramped 
soul ! " 

It  never  occurred  to  Esther,  as  her  lover  stooped  and 


114  STEADFAST. 

kissed  her  under  the  shadow  of  her  broad-leafed  hat, 
that  it  was  odd  he  should  know  the  contents  of  Uncle 
Dyer's  will  so  well,-  when  it  was  made  so  short  a  time 
before  the  paralytic  stroke  which  set  its  seal  on  heart 
and  lips  alike  ;  she  knew  nothing,  thought  of  nothing 
but  Philip  and  his  loss ;  she  was  in  that  condition  of 
existence  when  a  girl's  heart  and  soul  are  so  merged 
in  the  lover  she  worships,  that  reason  is  in  abeyance, 
and  common  sense  drugged  to  sleep  ;  whatever  Philip 
chose  to  tell  her  she  believed,  and  he,  used  to  this 
stage  of  passion  in  his  various  experiments,  perfectly 
comprehended  the  situation. 

He  went  on,  with  a  voice  full  of  eager  longing  and 
pain.  "Oh!  if  I  could  but  know  that  unjust  will 
were  destroyed  !  If  I  could  but  feel  it  were  cancelled 
by  fire  and  scattered  to  the  winds  of  heaven,  I  could 
once  more  be  happy  !  And  well  I  know  it  would  be 
Uncle  Dyer's  wish,  if  he  could  listen  to  what  I  have 
to  tell  him.  I  had  just  arrived  at  the  end  of  my 
endeavor,  just  gotten  ready  to  come  up  and  explain 
to  him  the  difficulties  I  had  at  last  surmounted,  and 
absolve  myself  from  any  shadow  of  blame,  when  I 
was  summoned,  and  behold  he  is  practically  dead,  and 
I  can  never,  never,  be  righted  !  " 

Esther's  eyes  filled  with  tears ;  she  clasped  his 
hand  more  closely  :  "  Oh  Philip  !  "  she  said,  "  it  is  a 
shame  !  it  is  too,  too  hard.  Could  I  but  help  you ! " 

"  You !  little  mouse  ! "  said  Philip,  with  a  sad  smile, 
Esther  caught  the  allusion. 

"  But  a  mouse  did  gnaw  the  lion's  net,  you  know  ! " 


FRAUD.  115 

she  said,  softly.  Philip  was  silent ;  he  had  planted 
the  thought  he  meant  to,  in  her  mind;  now,  how 
should  he  quicken  its  germination  ? 

But  Esther  thought  only  of  him  and  the  injustice 
lie  suffered.  She  was  so  lost  to  all  things  but  Philip ; 
so  ready  to  sacrifice  all  she  held  dearest  to  his  pleas 
ure,  that  it  was  well  for  her  his  selfish  soul  was  too 
considerate  of  his  future,  his  position,  and  his  pur 
poses,  to  allow  him  to  be  swept  away  by  passion  as 
better  men  have  sometimes  been  in  like  circumstances, 
and  so  shipwreck  Esther's  life  for  his  own  transient 
gratification.  It  is  true  that  religion  teaches  us  that 
sin  is  sin,  whatever  be  its  name  or  manifestation,  but 
there  are  gradations  of  sin  in  the  world's  eyes,  and 
some  that  in  a  woman  are  unpardonable.  But  Esther 
was  an  innocent  girl,  just  now  carried  beyond  the 
domain  of  ethics  or  religion ;  to  her  soul  one  sin 
ranked  with  another,  and  she  forgot  all  other  consid 
erations  in  her  absorbing  desire  to  do  what  would 
serve  or  save  her  lover,  whatever  it  might  be. 

She  said  no  word  to  him  of  her  thought  or  inten 
tion,  but  from  that  hour  her  soul  was  set  on  the  one 
purpose  of  getting  at  that  latest  will,  and  destroying- 
it  before  Uncle  Dyer's  death. 

She  was  more  silent  than  Philip  all  the  rest  of  their 
drive,  and  he  very  well  understood  the  reason.  When 
those  dark,  passionate  eyes  sought  his  now  and  then, 
with  a  look  of  utter  devotion  and  sympathy  that 
touched  even  his  worldly  and  scheming  heart,  or  her 
cool,  soft  lips  quivered  under  the  long  pressure  of  his 


116  STEADFAST. 

as  he  bent  his  head  to  her's  in  the  fragrant  shadow  of 
the  forest  road,  Philip  Kent  knew  as  well  as  if  he 
read  it  in  fiery  letters  on  that  twilight  sky  above 
them,  that  Esther  would  risk  her  very  soul  to  save 
him  the  wealth  he  so  coveted,  and  it  cost  even  him  a 
slight  struggle  to  cast  aside  the  intrusive  idea  of 
releasing  her  from  the  unspoken  vow  he  felt  she  had 
made.  Yet  it  was  but  a  momentary  idea ;  he  clasped 
her  in  his  arms  as  they  entered  the  loveliest  part  of 
their  homeward  way,  kissed  her  passionately  again 
and  again, -and  as  she  lifted  her  languid  eyes  and  burn 
ing  face  from  his  bosom,  he  felt  he  had  fully  rewarded 
her  ;  and  she  felt  ready  to  die  —  or  live  —  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

DONE. 

What  plea,  so  tainted  and  corrupt, 
But,  being  seasoned  with  a  gracious  voice, 
Obscures  the  show  of  evil  ? 

FROM  that  day  on,  Esther  spent  her  time  in  devis 
ing  how  to  get  that  obnoxious  will  and  destroy  it ; 
she  was  so  new  to  deception  or  scheming,  so  innocent 
of  evil  design,  yet  so  impressed  with  the  need  of 
secresy  for  Philip's  sake,  for  he  had  over  and  again 
insinuated  into  her  mind  that  not  for  the  world  would 
he  possess  himself  of  the  document,  since  to  do  so 
would  in  itself  (if  found  out)  be  fatal  to  his  character 
and  his  future ;  that  she  lay  awake  at  night  and  pon 
dered  by  day  on  this  purpose,  until  she  was  utterly 
absorbed  in  ways  and  means. 

Still  Uncle  Dyer  lay  senseless  ;  Dr.  Parker  had 
said  that  the  case  was  hopeless ;  that  life  might 
nicker  up  for  a  moment  at  the  end,  and  consciousness 
return,  but  it  would  still  be  the  end  of  life,  and  prob 
ably  come  about  the  tenth  day ;  and  time  had  crept 
on  for  a  whole  week,  yet  Esther  had  not  got  the  will. 

But  on  the  eighth  day  came  that  opportunity  that 
evil  always  fetches  to  those  who  traffic  with  its 
forces  ;  Mrs.  Dennis  was  seized  with  a  sudden  attack 
of  illness,  prostrating  but  not  dangerous,  and  Esther 

117 


118  STEADFAST. 

was  called  to  her  place  at  Uncle  Dyer's  bedside  for 
the  day. 

It  was  Delia's  washing-day,  but  she  left  her  tubs  to 
see  that  Mrs.  Dennis  was  bestowed  safely  in  her  bed. 
and  her  present  needs  provided  for ;  then  she  looked 
in  on  Esther  with  an  admonition,  whispered  but 
peremptory :  "  She's  all  right  upstairs ;  don't  you 
get  in  a  swivet  about  her ;  I've  giv'  her  some  ros'- 
berry  leaf  tea,  an'  put  a  hot  flat  to  her  feet.  You 
just  set  still  alongside  of  him,  and  keep  a  wettin'  his 
lips  with  that  slipp'ry  ellum  tea  in  the  mug  ;  that's  all 
the  poor  cretur  needs ;  he  dono  nothin',  an'  he  can't 
say  nothin'.  I  do  dread  a  shockanum  palsy  myself, 
dreadfully ;  seems  as  though  it  made  folks  just  like 
them  cherubs  on  the  tombstones  in  the  yard,  all  out 
side  as  you  may  say  ;  neither  live  nor  dead,  they're 
dead  I  s'pose,  but  they  look  kind  of  lively,  an'  he 
don't. 

"Well,  you  keep  the  lib'ry  fire  up,  Esther;  it's 
kind  of  damp  on  this  floor  after  the  rain;  and  jest 
lock  the  door  so's  nobody  won't  come  in  suddin.  I 
ain't  real  certin  sure  but  what  he's  a  mite  nervy,  if  he 
don't  show  it,  and  anyway  sick  folks  had  ought  to  be 
kept  as  quiet  as  the  law  allows." 

So  Delia,  unconscious  aide-de-camp  of  the  evil  one 
who  stood  at  Esther's  side,  shut  the  door  gently  and 
creaked  back  down  the  stair  to  her  washing. 

Now  was  Esther's  time  !  she  felt  it  with  a  thrill  of 
mingled  satisfaction  and  terror;  she  carefully  wet 
Uncle  Dyer's  parched  lips,  half  closed  the  door  into 


DONE.  119 

the  library,  locked  that  through  which  Delia  had 
passed,  and  softly  opening  the  door  of  a  little  cup 
board  above  the  mantel,  took  from  a  nail  under  the 
shelf,  Uncle  Dyer's  keys. 

Well  she  knew  where  he  kept  them,  for  many  and 
many  a  time  she  had  mounted  in  that  same  red 
moreen-cushioned  chair  and  opened  that  very  same 
cupboard  over  the  fireplace  to  get  him  the  keys, 
which  he  never  carried  in  his  pocket  for  fear  of  los 
ing  them,  as  the  locks  were  intricate  and  he  had  no 
duplicates. 

Esther  shut  the  cupboard,  and  clasping  the  keys 
tightly  lest  they  should  rattle,  stepped  down  from  the 
chair ;  she  selected  first  the  key  of  the  secretary,  a 
tall  piece  of  old  cherry-wood  furniture  on  four  slender 
claw-footed  legs,  with  a  desk  front,  and  a  book  closet 
above  that,  surmounted  by  an  odd  and  clumsy  cornice 
with  a  curving  ornament  in  the  middle  ;  the  upper 
doors  were  locked,  there  stood  Mr.  Dyer's  ledgers,  and 
on  the  shelves  above  were  bundles  of  bills,  filed  and 
receipted ;  with  these  Esther  had  nothing  to  do  ;  she 
only  unlocked  the  desk,  and  let  the  front  down  on 
to  two  supports  which  she  drew  out  from  the  sides  of 
the  secretary  for  that  purpose ;  just  then  a  sudden 
noise  startled  her ;  her  hands  trembled,  and  a  quick 
throb  at  her  heart  sent  the  blood  all  over  her  face  ; 
she  held  her  breath  and  listened ;  the  noise  was  out 
side,  Philip  had  closed  the  barn  door  hastily;  she 
stepped  to  the  window  and  saw  him  mount  his  iron- 
gray  horse,  and  ride  oft';  his  face  was  dark  and 


120  STEADFAST. 

gloomy  as  the  gathering  northeast  storm  that  filled 
the  sky  above  him,  and  howled  with  doleful  presage 
about  the  old  house. 

That  woful  face  gave  Esther  fresh  courage  ;  she 
hastened  back  to  the  desk,  applied  the  little  key  on 
the  ring  to  a  keyhole  hidden  under  a  brass  ornament 
which  she  had  pushed  aside,  and  a  secret  drawer  flew 
open.  There  lay  two  folded  sheets  of  parchment  side 
by  side. 

On  each  was  written  in  Uncle  Dyer's  flowing  hand, 
"  My  Laste  Wille  &  Testament "  ;  but  one  bore  a  date 
of  several  years  before,  the  other  of  a  fortnight  since  ; 
there  was  no  doubt  of  the  matter,  this  last  was  the 
will  her  poor  Philip  so  dreaded. 

An  older,  wiser,  or  less  pre-occupied  person  than 
Esther  would  naturally  have  asked  herself  why  the 
older  will  was  preserved ;  in  fact  the  answer  to  that 
question  lay  folded  in  the  new  one,  in  the  shape  of  a 
sealed  letter  to  Philip :  a  letter  never  to  be  seen  or 
read,  whatever  might  be  its  contents.  •  But  she  was 
too  full  of  joy  at  her  success  to  think  of  anything  but 
that  she  had  achieved  her  end ;  she  locked  the  secret 
drawer  carefully,  and  closed  and  locked  the  desk, 
pushing  in  its  supports  with  needless  caution,  for  the 
only  ear  to  hear  them  creak  was  sealed  with  a  pressure 
close  as  the  numbness  of  death ;  then  she  mounted 
into  the  chair  again,  hung  up  the  keys  in  their  place, 
turned  the  button  on  the  closet  door,  stepped  down, 
and  carefully  shook  up  the  red  cushion  that  bore  the 
mark  of  feet  upon  it,  moved  the  chair  away,  and  then 


DONE.  121 

thrust  that  obnoxious  will  right  under  the  great  hick 
ory  log  that  smouldered  above  a  bed  of  coals  in  the 
library  fireplace.  A  cloud  of  bitter  smoke,  a  sudden 
crackling,  a  burst  of  bright  flame,  and  Philip  was 
righted ! 

Uncle  Dyer's  calm  face  looked  down  from  the  wall, 
where  he  was  depicted  sitting  at  that  very  desk  in 
his  Sunday  suit,  a  pen  in  one  hand,  the  other  resting 
on  a  parchment  scroll,  his  dark  eyes  emphasized  by 
the  powdered  hair  above  them,  and  his  firm  lips  and 
broad  brow  as  nearly  like  life  as  oil  and  canvas  can 
reproduce  humanity  when  a  skilful  artist  uses  them. 

Did  those  grave  eyes  really  glow  with  indignation 
and  reproach  ?  or  was  it  but  the  reflection  of  that 
sharp  flame  that  flickered  on  the  portrait  ? 

Esther  returned  to  the  bedside,  and  again  from  the 
long-necked  silver  dish  that  held  a  little  liquid,  and 
was  made  and  used  only  for  this  office,  she  dropped 
a  few  drops  of  the  odorous  potion  on  the  invalid's 
hot  and  dry  lips ;  was  there  any  expression  in  those 
half-shut  eyes  that  she  trembled  so  as  she  bent  above 
them  ? 

What  if  all  this  time  he  were  conscious,  had  heard 
her  and  suspected  her  ? 

She  shuddered,  and  instinctively  went  back  to  the 
library  to  make  sure  her  work  was  done  ;  there  was  a 
rank  and  breathless  smell  in  the  room,  a  smell  she 
knew  came  from  that  burnt  parchment;  there  was 
sure  betrayal  in  the  odor ;  what  could  she  do  to  pre 
vent  it  ? 


122  STEADFAST. 

On  the  mantelpiece  stood  two  large  blue  vases ; 
only  a  little  while  before,  she  had  filled  them  with 
branches  of  cedar  from  a  bluff  above  the  shore  where 
she  and  Philip  had  often  sat  together,  listening  to 
the  crushed  whisper  of  the  sea  below,  as  it  threw  its 
waves  of  crested  beryl  sharply  up  the  beach,  and 
then  hissed  backward,  dragging  with  it  shells  and 
pebbles  that  clashed  together  and  rasped  the  sand 
beneath  them  into  smoothness. 

The  branches  were  misty  blue  with  their  fragrant 
berries,  and  well  dried  by  the  heated  air  of  the  room ; 
she  seized  them  from  the  vases  and  flung  them  on  the 
fire ;  -a  quick  flash  followed,  then  a  dull  but  heavy 
roar ;  Esther  knew  well  what  it  meant,  she  had  set 
the  soot  that  had  accumulated  in  the  chimney  on  fire. 

Really  there  was  no  danger,  but  she  was  excited 
and  unstrung ;  the  nervous  tension  that  had  upheld 
her  gave  way,  she  threw  up  the  window  and  shrieked 
to  Delia,  whose  tubs  stood  in  the  shed  between  the 
kitchen  and  woodhouse,  by  an  open  door. 

"  0  Delia !  Delia !  come  quick !  the  chimney's 
burning ! " 

"Well,  what  if  'tis  ?  "  calmly  answered  Delia,  lift 
ing  her  hands  from  the  suds  and  wiping  them  on  her 
apron.  "  Don't  get  so  scared  Esther.  I'll  come  right 
along  up,"  and  in  another  moment  she  had  run  up 
stairs. 

"  Sure  enough  !  how  come  it  to  blaze  up  so  ?  " 

"  Oh  I  put  those  cedar  branches  on ;  there  wasn't 
much  fire  ;  I  didn't  think ;  I "  — 


DONE.  123 

"  Why,  child,  tisn't  nothing ;  you're  as  nervy  as  a 
settin'  hen.  I  should  ha'  thought  you'd  known  better 
than  to  fling  red  cedar  on  top  of  a  fire.  Land  !  how 
it  smells  !  That  chimbley  had  ought  to  have  been 
burnt  out  last  spring  by  rights ;  my !  how  the  sut 
does  come  down ! " 

Esther  shivered  with  excitement,  she  knew  now 
there  was  no  danger,  the  northeaster  had  thickened, 
first  into  a  driving  mist,  now  into  a  solid  rain  that 
fell  in  sharp  gusts  against  the  house  and  prevented 
all  danger  from  burning  soot  or  sparks  on  the  roof ; 
she  turned  away  toward  the  bedroom,  mindful  of  her 
office  for  her  uncle  ;  but  as  she  faced  the  door  a  stifled 
cry  burst  from  her  lips  and  startled  Delia  in  her  turn. 

Uncle  Dyer  sat  bolt  upright  in  the  bed,  his  face 
darkly  flushed  and  working  fearfully  in  an  effort  to 
speak,  his  eyes  full  of  horror  and  despair,  every  vein 
swollen,  and  a  cold  sweat  bursting  out  on  his  fore 
head;  what  had  aroused  him  so,  it  was  idle  to  in 
quire  ;  struggle  as  he  might,  the  palsied  tongue  re 
fused  to  obey  the  yearning  desire  of  the  agonized 
mind ;  it  was  the  awful  and  futile  revolt  of  a  spirit  in 
prison,  and  lasted  but  for  a  moment,  the  dark  flush, 
the  convulsion  of  the  muscles,  the  look  of  anguish 
passed  away  like  the  lurid  cloud  of  a  tempest  before 
the  south  wind,  that  sweeps  those  heaped  black  fleeces 
from  the  sky  with  gentle  but  forceful  breath,  and 
leaves  the  sunset  to  its  awful  peace. 

One  look  of  deep  affection,  a  half  smile,  both  for 
Esther;  and  then  the  conquered  soul  withdrew  for- 


124  STEADFAST. 

ever  from  its  battle  with  the  flesh,  and  Uncle  Dyer 
dropped  back,  quite  dead. 

"I  never  shall  think  'twas  that  burniii'  chimbly 
done  it,"  said  Delia,  two  hours  afterward,  as  she  stood 
by  that  bed,  superintending  the  offices  of  two  old 
women  who  made  a  business  of  preparing  the  dead  for 
burial.  "  I  s'pose  his  time  had  come ;  there's  been 
bigger  noises  'n  that  sence  he  was  took,  and  he  didn't 
mind  'em  no  more'n  Pharo'  King  of  Egypt  j  the  old 
apple  tree  blowed  down  a  week  ago  in  that  real 
severe  thunder  squall  we  had,  and  come  bang  ag'inst 
the  side  o'  the  house,  but  he  never  winked.  Esther 
took  on  consider'ble  ;  she  thought  she'd  killed  him 
sure,  a  puttin'  on  them  cedar  branches  so's  to  spunk 
up  the  fire,  and  thereby  settin'  the  sut  to  blazin' ;  but 
'twasn't  that ! " 

"  No,  no,  'twan't,"  said  the  elder  crone,  shaking  her 
grizzled  head,  solemnly.  "  'Twas  jest  as  you  say, 
Miss  Pratt,  jes'  so ;  his  time  had  come,  and  when  the 
Lord  sees  folkses  time  has  come  it  don't  need  no 
airthly  cretur's  hand  to  hurry  it  along ;  we've  all  got 
to  be  took  some  time  or  'nother,  and  its  good  we  dono 
when  'tis.7' 

"Mm,"  murmured  the  other,  putting  her  head  on 
one  side,  like  a  bird  inspecting  some  doubtful  object, 
"'tis  so,  certin'  sure.  Well,  Squire  Dyer  was  pre 
pared  ;  he  was  a  good  man,  and  he  makes  a  bewtiful 
corpse." 

A  murmur  of  assent  confirmed  her  remark,  and 
then  drawing  the  sheet  up  over  the  sharp,  still  out- 


POXE.  125 

lines  of  the  dead,  they  all  withdrew  and  locked  the 
door  upon  "  the  remains."  Apt  expression  !  it  was 
indeed  only  the  remainder  which  the  greater  part  had 
left;  only  the  worn-out  vesture,  the  frail,  broken 
chrysalis ;  the  cloak  that  hid  even  from  the  nearest 
and  dearest,  the  integral  nature  of  that  vital  force  it 
shrouded ;  why  do  we  honor  and  adorn  it  as  we  do, 
and  speak  of  the  dead  as  if  they  slept  in  the  graves 
we  hallow  ? 

Rather,  should  not  it  be  written  above  the  portals 
of  every  graveyard,  where  Christians  leave  the  dust 
that  must  be  buried  out  of  sight,  the  remonstrance  of 
that  wiser  angel  to  the  wondering  disciples,  — 

"  Why  seek  ye  the  living  among  the  dead  ?  He  is 
not  here,  He  is  risen." 


CHAPTER   XII. 
"L'IMPREVU." 

It  is  always  the  unexpected  that  happens. 

MRS.  DENNIS  was  worse  the  next  day;  she  had 
known  that  her  uncle's  state  was  precarious,  but  as 
long  as  life  lasts  on  earth,  the  halo  of  its  essential  im 
mortality  surrounds  it ;  when  it  really  vanishes  from 
the  apprehension  of  sense  we  are  always  surprised ; 
for  at  heart  every  human  being  has  the  infidelity  of 
the  Apostle  Thomas  hidden  in  some  shadowy  recess, 
where  it  whispers  to  itself,  "  I  will  not  believe  what 
I  do  not  see  and  touch !  " 

So  the  widow,  already  weakened  by  her  illness,  re 
ceived  a  real  shock  from  the  news  of  her  uncle's 
death  ;  she  had  arrived  at  an  age  when  we  feel  deeply 
that  "  blood  is  thicker  than  water,"  and  Mr.  Dyer  was 
her  only  surviving  relative.  It  is  true,  her  daughter 
was  left,  but  Esther  had  never  really  understood  or 
intelligently  sympathized  with  her  mother ;  she  was 
too  young  at  her  father's  death  to  enter  into  the  full 
sense  of  her  mother's  loss  or  her  own,  though  she 
mourned  him  truly,  and  with  the  rebellious  passion  of 
early  youth ;  but  time  and  change  of  scene  had  really 
consoled  her,  and  she  did  not  know  how  the  riven 
heart  that  had  lost  its  other  half,  its  light,  and 
126 


"  L'IMPREVU."  127 

strength,  and  joy,  still  refused  to  be  comforted,  still 
echoed  with  the  sobs  she  would  not  utter,  and  was 
still  overflowed  with  repressed  tears,  that  her  sense 
of  duty  and  shrinking  from  demonstration,  forbade  to 
fall. 

Then  Esther  had  been  so  absorbed  in  her  mad  love 
for  Philip,  that  she  had,  with  youth's  unconscious  self 
ishness,  left  her  mother  much  to  herself,  and  in  this 
solitude  Uncle  Dyer  had  been  her  companion  ;  beside 
the  crackling  fire  they  had  talked  together  of  the 
past ;  discussed  their  losses  ;  recalled  those  memories 
that  are  as  fragrant  as  the  dead  leaves  of  an  autumnal 
forest ;  or,  after  the  fashion  of  their  day,  reasoned 
together  concerning  theological  dogmas,  obscure  texts 
in  the  Scripture  ;  and  had  insensibly  grown  nearer  to 
each  other  thus. 

Then  like  all  over-conscientious  women,  she  tor 
mented  herself  with  the  idea  that  she  ought  not  to 
have  left  him ;  forgot  the  severity  of  the  attack  that 
had  forced  her  to  her  bed,  and  felt  that  a  greater 
effort  of-  will,  a  little  more  courage  in  pain,  might 
have  kept  her  by  his  side  ;  so  her  bereft  and  worried 
mind  preyed  on  her  exhausted  body,  and  she  was  not 
able  even  to  give  a  farewell  look  at  the  noble  and 
peaceful  face  that  slept  so  silently  in  the  darkened 
room  below. 

To  her  Esther's  cares  were  all  directed  now.  She 
had  seen  Philip  once  since  her  uncle's  death,  and 
given  him  a  reassuring  look  and  smile,  and  a  low 
whisper  of  "  Fear  not !  "  which  said  much  more  to  his 


128  STEADFAST. 

anxious  ear;  but  further  communication  had  been 
impossible,  and  he  did  not  seek  it ;  he  knew  too  well 
that  any  aspect  of  unusual  confidence  or  collusion, 
might  be  brought  up  against  them  both,  so  he  did  not 
even  inquire  for  her  before  he  was  obliged  to  leave  ; 
and  she  spent  the  three  days  preceding  the  funeral  in 
her  mother's  room. 

Mrs.  Dennis  lay  for  the  most  part  quite  silent; 
sometimes  she  watched  Esther  as  she  moved  about 
the  room,  with  the  sort  of  dumb  yearning  one  sees 
in  the  eyes  of  a  dog ;  for  hers  was  truly  a  spirit  in 
prison. 

Full  of  timid,  but  entire  devotion  to  the  very  few 
she  loved,  she  had  been  taught  by  her  stern  religious 
creed  to  tremble  lest  her  natural  affections  should 
grow  into  idolatry.  She  was  convinced  that  for  this 
reason  her  husband  had  been  taken  from  her,  that  she 
might  give  to  a  jealous  and  angry  God  the  love  that 
had  bound  itself  so  utterly  to  a  human  being ;  and 
when  her  heart  turned  to  Esther,  the  living  tie  that 
still  clasped  her  to  the  dead,  as  a  mother's  heart  nat 
urally  would  turn,  she  strictly  schooled  every  thought 
as  well  as  every  utterance  of  maternal  love  and  long 
ing,  lest  she  too,  this  lovely  and  beloved  child,  should 
become  an  "idol."  Better  that  she  should  die  and 
leave  Esther  ignorant  of  her  tenderness,  than  cut 
short  those  young  days,  and  jeopard  her  own  hopes  of 
heaven. 

Mrs.  Dennis  was  not  a  reasonable  woman,  logic  was 
impossible  to  her  sort  of  mind,   or  she  might  and 


"  L'IMPREVU."  129 

would  have  asked  herself  why  this  God  whom  she 
feared  had  ever  implanted  within  her  the  power  of 
loving,  if  it  was  always  to  be  repressed ;  or,  why  he 
had  compared  His  own  tenderness  to  that  of  a  mother, 
if  her's  was  blamable. 

Now  she  was  forced  into  close  company  with  Esther ; 
dependent  on  her  for  comfort  and  for  society,  and  her 
heart  yielded  itself  to  that  love  which  has  no  equal 
on  earth.  She  dwelt  with  delight  on  the  noble  fig 
ure  the  richly  expressive  face,  the  wealth  of  dark 
brown  hair  that  in  the  sun  showed  its  intermingling 
of  deep  red  threads,  and  glittered  like  the  shining 
rind  of  a  new  horse-chestnut.  She  basked  in  the 
dream-dimmed  affection  of  the  great  hazel  eyes  that 
were  so  shy,  so  beautiful,  yet  at  times  so  sad ;  and 
longed  to  kiss  the  exquisite  little  hands  and  wrists 
that  fetched  her  food,  lifted  her  on  her  pillows, 
rubbed  her  tired  muscles;  or,  the  taper  and  rose- 
tinted  fingers  that  smoothed  her  gray  hair  back  under 
the  cap  border,  or  fastened  the  night-dress  about  her 
with  a  gentle  deftness,  such  as  a  mother  might  show 
to  a  baby.  Three  days  of  happiness  were  hers  ;  even 
in  her  grief  she  could  but  own  their  sweetness ;  then 
came  the  funeral.  A  bountiful  table,  spread  with  all 
the  "  baked  meats  "  Delia  well  knew  how  to  furnish 
for  such  occasions,  was  set  in  the  great  dining-room 
for  the  refection  of  friends  and  neighbors.  The 
family  and  relatives,  the  minister,  and  ,th,e  lawyer, 
were,  to  sit  by  .the  coffin  in  the  bedroom,  till  such 
time  as  one  prayer  had  been  made,  and  then  the 


130  STEADFAST. 

bearers  were  to  carry  the  dead  to  the  church  for  pub 
lic  services  there.  Esther  could  not  be  spared  from 
her  mother's  side  to  go  so  far,  but  she  could  not 
refuse  to  be  present  at  this  prayer ;  so  she  tied  on 
a  long,  black,  mourning  cloak,  and  tying  its  hood 
above  her  unpowd^red  hair,  seated  herself  by  the  side 
of  a  window,  and  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  gave 
hefself  up  to  solemn  thoughts  of  death,  as  was 
proper. 

Her  revery  was  broken  by  a  stir  at  the  door ;  she 
knew  that  Philip  had  gone  to  New  York  on  urgent 
business,  directly  after  her  uncle's  death ;  but  was  ex 
pected  to  be  back  for  the  funeral,  of  course.  Secluded 
in  her  mother's  room,  she  had  not  asked  if  he  had  re 
turned  ;  but  now,  as  she  lifted  her  head,  she  saw  him 
come  in  with  a  lady  on  his  arm. 

Young,  beautiful  as  a  statue,  with  cold  blue  eyes, 
and  heaped  up  gold-brown  hair ;  a  slight,  stiff  figure  ; 
lips  of  perfect  beauty,  but  colder  in  their  fixed  scarlet 
curves  than  even  her  blue  eyes,  Esther  gazed  and 
wondered  at  her ;  saw  that  she  too  wore  a  long,  black 
cloak,  and  that  the  little  hat  poised  daintily  upon  her 
hair  was  also  black  and  crape-wreathed ;  even  while 
she  looked  at  the  stranger,  Philip's  voice,  low  but 
distinct,  met  her  incredulous  ear  as  he  said  to  Squire 
Peters,  — 

"  This  lady  hath  a  right  of  entrance  here,  sir ;  she 
is  mine  honored  wife,  the  daughter  of  Peter  Stuyve- 
sant,  well  known  to  you  by  reputation,  the  merchant 
prince  of  our  goodly  city." 


131 


Squire  Peters  bowed  low,  well  he  knew  the  name ; 
but  just  at  that  moment  Parson  Hall  entered,  and, 
lifting  his  hand,  solemnly  begun  the  prayer.  After 
ward,  Esther  knew  why  he  spared  greeting  and  pre 
amble,  and  why  he  pleaded  fervently  and  long  for  the 
living  who  were  left  alone. 

But  she  heard  then  no  word  he  uttered;  chaos 
reigned  within  her  ;  outraged  pride  ;  incredulous  pas 
sion  ;  indignation ;  despair ;  all  grappled  with  her 
soul  at  once.  Hardly  was  the  "  Amen  "  said,  when 
she  glided  silently  from  the  room  by  another  door 
than  that  of  the  library,  where,  as  well  as  in  the  with 
drawing  room,  sat  friends  from  far  and  near,  sorrow 
ing  neighbors,  and  weeping  servants;  and  through 
Uncle  Dyer's  tiny  dressing-room  and  a  back  entry- 
way  fled  up  the  kitchen  staircase  and  into  her  own 
room. 

There,  prostrate  on  the  floor,  she  endured  the  first 
onset  of  an  agony  that  had  no  outlook,  no  hope,  in  its 
desperate  terror ;  words  were  vain,  prayer  idle,  pal 
liation  impossible,  she  had  the  woman's  only  defence, 
silent  endurance,  in  itself  a  horror  of  great  darkness ; 
for  to  weep,  to  scream,  to  beat  herself  against  the 
stones  of  the  shore  and  let  the  fierce  water  over 
whelm  her,  would  have  been  relief ;  but  as  it  was  she 
must  only  endure. 

She  lay  there  hour  after  hour,  forgetful  of  her 
mother,  of  her  uncle,  of  all  things  but  one,  —  that  she 
had  lost  Philip.  Through  her  window,  flung  open  in 
an  instinctive  effort  to  relieve  the  breathlessness  that 


132  STEADFAST. 

her  fast-beating  heart  brought  on,  she  heard  from  the 
near  meeting-house  the  wail  of  the  funeral  hymns,  but 
only  noted  them  with  a  sort  of  relief  that  they  ex 
pressed  her  own  desperate,  comfortless  anguish  ;  when 
they  ceased,  her  self-control  had  to  be  more  stringent ; 
but  she  lay  still,  silent,  solitary,  lost  in  an  incredible 
maze  of  distress,  crushed  by  an  incubus  of  daylight 
and  reality  ;  powerless  to  say  to  herself,  "  perhaps  it 
is  a  dream,"  and  loathing  with  all  her  soul  the  perfect, 
icy  face  of  the  woman  who  had  stepped  into  her 
place  and  taken  Philip  from  her  arms  and  her  heart. 
But  Esther  was  still  in  a  world  of  woes  beside  her 
own ;  she  was  roused  after  a  time  by  a  light  knock  on 
her  door ;  it  was  a  neighbor's  child  who  had  been 
fetched  to  sit  with  Mrs.  Dennis  while  Esther  attended 
the  prayer. 

The  exhausted  girl  slowly  rose,  and  straightened 
her  clothing ;  she  recognized  her  bitter  need  of  dis 
simulating  courage,  and  her  voice  was  firm  as  she  said, 
"  What  is  it,  Sally  ?  " 

"  Oh,  come  down  !  do  ye  now,  Esther  ;  I'm  all  of  a 
tremble.  Mis'  Dennis  she  tried  for  to  get  up  and  see 
out  o'  the  winder,  to  see  the  last  of  him  she  said,  jest 
as  they  was  goin'  to  the  buryin'  ground,  and  she's  fell 
down,  and  I  can't  noway  lift  her  up  ag'in." 

Esther  did  not  stay  to  replace  her  dishevelled  hair, 
but  hurried  into  her  mother's  room  ;  this  new  shock 
did  not  shake  her  presence  of  mind,  in  fact  did  not 
shock  her  as  it  would  have  the  day  before. 

Beside,  it  brought  with  it  that  need  for  action  that 


"  L'IMPREVU."  133 

is  so  wholesome  and  so  quickening  under  any  severe 
blow  ;  she  must  get  her  mother  at  once  back  to  her 
bed. 

Vainly,  however,  did  she  try  to  lift  that  rigid,  sense 
less  shape,  heavy  as  if  already  dead  ;  the  effort  to  pay 
that. last  respect  to  her  uncle  had,  from  her  feeble 
condition  and  a  certain  obscure  trouble  of  the  spine 
that  had  puzzled  her  physician  by  complicating  an  or 
dinarily  manageable  disease,  brought  on  an  uncon 
scious  condition  that  was  neither  a  swoon  nor  paralysis, 
and  only  by  Sally's  help  could  Esther  raise  her  from 
the  floor  and  get  her  back  in  her  bed ;  then  she  sent 
Sally  hastily  over  to  the  graveyard  to  hunt  up  Dr. 
Parker,  and  began  to  chafe  her  mother's  hands  and 
feet,  and  apply  camphor  to  her  temples. 

The  doctor  arrived  shortly,  but  his  skill  could  do 
no  more  than  Esther  had  done  :  he  could  only  read 
that  death-warrant  that  medical  authority  has  so  often 
to  issue,  in  the  usual  guarded  terms  that  really  con 
ceal  nothing  of  their  cruel  import,  but  are  a  tribute  to 
conventional  decencies. 

"  Your  mother  is  ser'ously  ill,  Esther ;  dangerous ; 
yes,  dangerous ;  but  we  hope  she  will  rally ;  yes, 
rally  again ;  while  there  is  life  there  is  hope ;  the 
vital  fluid  is  contumacious,  and  the  mass  of  her  mor 
tality  is  mabbe  more  tough  than  some ;  I  dono  but 
what  she  may  get  around  again  after  a  spell ;  yes, 
after  a  spell ;  she's  had  quite  a  shock  to  the  brain  sub 
stance,  quite ;  brain  is  a  difficult  region  to  deal  with 
medicinally.  I  should  apprehend  that  a  mess  of 


134  STEADFAST. 

wilted  burdock  leaves  clapped  to  the  soles  of  the  feet 
might  draw  down  the  evil ;  and  I  should  put  some 
cold  sperrits  onto  the  'top  of  her  head ;  camphire  is 
good,  it  is  revivin',  see-c?ative,  and  purifyin'  to  the 
blood ;  let  her  smell  to  the  camphire  quite  frequent, 
and  if  she  doos  not  revive  considerable  quick,  why  I'll 
let  blood,  I'll  let  blood.  In  obstinate  defluxions 
nothing  is  better.  But,  Esther,  you  should  have  some 
one  with  you,  yes,  it  is  needful ;  I  will  step  over  to 
Parson  Hall's,  and  see  if  he  cannot  spare  Miss  Ruthy." 

Esther  heard  him  in  absolute  silence;  she  sat  by 
her  mother  after  she  had  bound  the  dock-leaves  on 
her  feet,  and  wetted  her  head  with  rum,  like  some 
creature  carved  of  "  dureful  marble."  Once  only  she 
flashed  out  into  quick  life.  Philip's  voice  was  heard 
on  the  stairway. 

"  Lock  the  door,  Sally ! "  she  said,  peremptorily. 
"  Let  no  one  in,  unless  Miss  Euth  comes,"  and  Sally 
answering  a  rap  at  the  door  informed  Mr.  Kent  that, 
"  nobody  couldn't  see  neither  of  'em,  and  the'  mustn't 
be  a  mite  o'  noise." 

How  it  was  brought  about  Esther  did  not  know, 
but  that  night  Mr.  Hall  and  Aunt  Kuthy  were  both 
installed  in  the  Dyer  house  as  nurse  and  guardian. 

Meanwhile,  directly  after  the  funeral,  the  reading 
of  the  will  took  place  ;  Esther  was  not  there  of  course  ; 
she  was  shut  in  with  her  speechless  mother,  and  the 
doctor  gave  an  authoritative  order  that  she  should 
not  be  called  down. 

It  was  not  proper,  Squire  Peters  insisted,  that  the 


"  L'IMPREVU."  135 

will  should  be  read  without  her  presence,  but  he  was 
obliged  to  yield  this  point,  for  Philip  said  he  must  go 
to  New  York  that  night,  and  could  not  return  to 
Trurnbull  in  a  long  time ;  the  journey  was  so  tedious 
and  the « autumnal  weather  so  uncertain ;  so  Dr. 
Parker,  Parson  Hall,  Squire  Peters,  Philip  Kent,  and 
Philip  Kent's  wife,  a  maiden  lady  who  was  a  cousin 
of  Mrs.  Dyer's  and  had  lately  come  to  live  in  the  vil 
lage,  Miss  Temperance  Tucker,  were  summoned  to 
the  library  to  listen  to  Mr.  Dyer's  last  will  and  testa 
ment. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

A     WILL. 

What  deadly  things  we  do,  that,  being  done 
We  think  our  wish  and  will  forever  won ! 
Ah!  creatures  short  of  sight.    What  mortals  know 
Whether  their  will  fetch  joy  or  bitter  woe? 
They  have  earth's  best,  and  heaven's  most  divine 
Who  meekly  say  "  Thy  will  be  done!  not  mine." 

IT  was  a  small  company  that  assembled  about  the 
library  table  at  Mr.  Peters's  request  to  hear  this  will. 
Nobody  looked  happy  in  expectance  :  Philip  was  pale 
as  death. 

Squire  Peters  moved  a  chair  to  the  closet  door  as 
Esther  had  done,  and  took  down  the  keys ;  evidently, 
Mr.  Dyer  had  shown  him  their  place  in  preparation 
for  this  occasion;  but  when  he  had  unlocked  and 
opened  the  desk,  and  the  secret  drawer,  he  uttered  a 
quaint  ejaculation  under  his  breath,  and  proceeded  to 
search  every  drawer  and  pigeon-hole,  to  untie  bundle 
after  bundle  of  papers,  and  at  last  to  rummage  the 
upper  closet. 

"  Amazing  !  amazing  !  "  he  said,  as  he  turned  to 
the  waiting  company,  holding  a  sealed  parchment  in 
his  hand. 

"  It  is  but  a  few  weeks  ago  I  engrossed  a  will  for 
Joshua  Dyer  of  a  different  tenor  from  that  he  made 
succeeding  the  demise  of  his  late  wife  j  and  with  my 

136 


A    WILL.  137 

own  hands  did  I  deposit  it  in  this  drawer  whence  I 
have  taken  this  previous  will ;  but  there  is  no  trace 
of  it  among  his  papers.  I  cannot  think  he  hath 
destroyed  it  in  so  brief  time,"  and  Squire  Peters  cast 
a  glance  of  keen  inquiry  at  the  group  before  him, 
from  under  his  bushy  brows. 

Philip  had  recovered  his  natural  color  when  he  saw 
the  squire  begin  his  search;  and  looked  as  surprised 
as  they  did. 

"  Did  any  one  become  aware  of  the  tenor  of  that 
later  will  ?  "  asked  Parson  Hall  composedly. 

"  No,  sir ! "  was  the  squire's  emphatic  answer.  "  I 
tell  no  man's  secrets  to  man  or  woman ;  lawyer  and 
doctor  should  be  like  the  grave's  mouth,  which  re- 
ceiveth  all  things  and  returneth  nothing." 

And  the  squire  spoke  truth  ;  Abner  Peters's  commu 
nication  to  Philip  had  been  an  invention  of  his  own 
to  torment  the  man  he  never  liked. 

Philip  knew  from  Mr.  Dyer's  own  lips  what  the 
earlier  will  had  been,  but  even  Squire  Peters  was  not 
aware  that  Philip  had  received  such  a  confidence. 

"  I  see  then,"  went  on  Mr.  Hall,  "  no  other  expla 
nation  of  the  absence  of  that  document,  but  that  Mr. 
Dyer  changed  his  mind  concerning  the  provisions 
thereof,  and  probably  intending  so  to  change  it,  did 
away  with  it,  and  was  too  soon  smitten  with  paraly 
sis  to  frame  another."' 

"  Mabbe  it  is  so,  mabbe  it  is  so,"  said  Squire  Peters, 
reflectively,  "but  since  none  other  is  to  be  had,  I  will 
now  advise  you  all  here  assembled,  of  the  contents  of 


138  STEADFAST. 

this  one ;  if  perchance  the  other  should  yet  be  found, 
these  legacies  and  provisions  will  be  thereby  null  and 
void  according  to  the  statutes  of  this  colony." 

A  wild  thrill  of  fear  darted  through  Philip's  mind ; 
what  if  Esther  had  only  secreted  that  new  will,  and 
in  her  indignation  at  his  betrayal  of  her  affection 
should  restore  it  ?  But  would  she  be  ready  to  crimi 
nate  herself  ?  Eacked  by  doubts  and  fears  that  now 
began  their  work,  he  composed  himself  as  best  he 
could  to  listen  to  the  reading  of  Squire  Peters.  There 
was  the  usual  preamble,  with  its  farcical  gift  of  the 
soul  to  God  and  the  body  to  the  ground ;  a  foregone 
conclusion  that  one  might  think  better  omitted,  if 
they  stopped  to  think  at  all :  and  then  came  small 
legacies  to  Hiram  and  Delia ;  a  gift  of  valuable  books 
and  a  gold  watch  and  seals  to  Parson  Hall :  a  sum  of 
four  hundred  pounds  sterling  to  Mrs.  Dennis  ;  and  the 
rest  and  residue  of  all  his  estate  to  Philip  Kent ; 
"  nephew  of  my  late  lamented  wife." 

No  mention  was  made  of  Esther;  indeed  when  this 
will  was  drawn  up,  Uncle  Dyer  had  never  seen  the 
girl ;  his  wife  was  but  just  buried,  and  he  had  only 
been  reminded  very  lately  of  his  niece's  existence. 
Unaware  of  Mrs.  Dennis's  extreme  poverty,  for  her 
letter  to  him  only  asked  for  help  to  find  occupation, 
and  did  not  at  all  enter  into  the  details  of  her  desti 
tution,  he  had  only  left  her  such  a  sum  in  his  will  as 
would  ensure  her  from  starvation,  supposing  that 
she  must  have  some  property  of  her  own. 

Whatever  were  the  contents  of  the  later  will,  only 


A   WILL.  139 

Squire  Peters  knew  now.  But  there  was  nothing  to 
be  said  or  done ;  Squire  Peters  was  executor,  with 
Parson  Hall,  and  Philip  drew  the  latter  aside  as  the 
small  conclave  dispersed  and  said  :  "  Sir,  I  am  indeed 
grieved  that  nothing  more  hath  been  left  to  Mrs. 
Dennis  and  her  daughter ;  believe  me,  it  is  my  full 
purpose  to  provide  for  them  well,  as  my  uncle  past 
doubt  intended.  I  must  betake  myself  at  once  to 
New  York  on  urgent  affairs ;  now  that  the  business 
hath  passed  fully  into  my  hands,  I  must  be  there 
directly.  But  assure  the  ladies  of  my  good  intent ;  I 
would  fain  have  seen  them,  but  was  denied." 

There  was  something  so  formal  and  cold-blooded  in 
Philip's  speech,  that  the  parson  could  hardly  control 
his  own  words  to  due  frigidity  ;  well  he  knew  how 
this  man  had  drawn  Esther's  innocent  heart  out  of 
her  bosom  and  thrown  it  away  ;  how  broken  and  des 
perate  it  lay  now  among  the  ruined  hopes  so  fondly 
cherished;  it  had  been  almost  as  great  a  shock  to 
him  as  to  her  when  Philip  entered  that  death  cham 
ber  with  a  wife  on  his  arm,  and  so  far  as  a  man  can 
appreciate  a  woman's  feelings,  he  understood  Esther's, 
and  gave  her  a  sympathy  so  keen  and  a  pity  so  over 
flowing,  that  he  felt  toward  Philip  Kent  as  Adam 
might  have  felt  toward  Cain  when  he  saw  the  fair 
shape  of  Abel  the  beloved,  streaming  with  blood,  and 
pallid  with  death,  stretched  on  the  turf  by  his  new 
built  altar,  himself  the  first  fruits  of  the  sin  which 
"brought  death  into  the  world  and  all  our  woe." 
But  he  controlled  his  righteous  anger  enough  to  say 
calmly,  — 


140  STEADFAST. 

"Mrs.  Dennis  is  well-nigh  at  the  gate  of  death; 
she  could  see  no  one  save  the  physician  ;  her  daughter 
is  at  her  side.  I  think  there  can  be  no  more  removal 
of  the  sick  woman  for  some  time  to  come,  if  indeed 
she  be  ever  moved  except  to  the  grave.  I  trust  you 
will  permit  them  to  find  shelter  here  for  a  time." 

Philip  put  on  a  grieved  expression,  though  in  his 
heart  he  was  furious  at  Parson  Hall's  manner. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  the  house  is  at  their  service  ;  I  must 
be  gone  for  months,  but  I  trust  yet  to  abide  here  as  a 
dweller  for  good  part  of  the  year,  and  I  purpose  to 
leave  Hiram  and  Delia  in  charge.  I  trust  that  Madam 
and  her  daughter  will  be  at  home  while  they  please 
here,  and  I  shall  leave  orders  that  they  be  cared  for 
duly." 

With  a  cold  salutation  he  turned  from  the  parson, 
and  presenting  his  hand  to  his  wife  led  her  to  the 
chaise  waiting  for  them  at  the  door,  and  departed. 

Esther  neither  knew  nor  cared  what  was  going  on 
downstairs  ;  her  mother's  fall  had  been  followed  by  an 
unconscious  condition,  from  which  she  now  and  then 
roused,  complaining  of  her  head  in  a  gentle,  piteous 
way,  and  then  seeming  to  sleep  again  ;  Miss  Temper 
ance  Tucker  had  offered  to  help  Aunt  Eutliy,  but 
Esther  wanted  no  new  face  about  her,  and  Miss  Tempy 
went  off  as  Delia  described  it,  "  in  a  fluff." 

"  She  took  on  dreadful !  she  scolded  'cause  Squire 
Peters  made  her  stay  to  the  will-readin'  for  nothiri' ; 
she  wasn't  left  so  much  as  a  pine-tree  shillin'  in't,  and 
I  dono  myself  what  upon  airtli  lie  did  keep  her  for. 


A    WILL.  141 

And  Esther  didn't  want  them  black  eyes  of  her'n  a 
pryin'  an'  a  peepin'  'round,  nor  I  didn't ;  but  she's 
madder  'n  a  settin'  hen,  and  she'll  set  to  and  tell  more 
tales  !  You  see  if  she  don't !  " 

Meantime,  Esther,  regardless  of  all  other  things, 
sat  by  her  mother's  bedside  in  a  silent  despair ;  now 
that  she  understood  how  Philip  had  deceived  her,  how 
she  had  been  a  mere  tool  in  his  hands,  she  began  to 
see  also  that  she  had  committed  a  great  sin  in  steal 
ing  and  destroying  Uncle  Dyer's  will.  While  Philip 
loved  her,  and  she  loved  him,  nothing  seemed  wrong 
to  her  that  he  asked  her  to  do  ;  there  was  no  sacrifice 
of  herself  she  would  not  gladly  have  made  for  him ; 
but  when  that  love  was  suddenly  killed  —  and  in  her 
ignorance  of  herself  she  thought  it  slain  forever  — 
the  evil  she  had  done  for  love's  sake  arose  like  the 
genie  from  his  casket,  and  filled  all  her  atmosphere 
with  its  towering  shape.  She  was  a  thief !  branded 
and  disgraced  forever  in  her  own  eyes ;  unfit  for  the 
company  of  the  good ;  cast  out  on  earth ;  hopeless  of 
heaven  ;  and  Philip  had  never  loved  her. 

Absorbed  in  this  crushing  and  benumbing  conscious 
ness,  she  failed  to  see  how  fast  her  mother  was  sink 
ing  into  that  last  slumber  which  should  leave  her  or 
phaned.  Once  Mrs.  Dennis  said  in  a  faint  whisper,  — 

"Esther!  I  am  going,"  but  the  incredulous  girl 
thought  it  a  dreamy  idea  of  illness,  and  comforted 
and  reassured  her  mother  as  best  she  could,  until  the 
mortal  stupor  again  set  in. 

Once  more,  two  days  after,  she  whispered,  a  sort  of 


142  STEADFAST. 

dull  agony  in  her  voice,  a  subdued  terror  :  "  Esther, 
pray  !  pray  !  "  and  Esther,  shuddering,  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands. 

She  pray !  she,  a  thief  !  an  outcast  from  all  good  ! 
she  had  not  lifted  heart  or  voice  to  God  since  that 
hour  when  she  heard  Philip  present  his  wife  to 
Squire  Peters  beside  his  uncle's  coffin.  There  was  no 
more  God  for  her,  the  universe  was  chaos  again,  and 
she  thrown  out  into  the  blackness  of  darkness  forever 
and  ever. 

It  was  but  a  few  days  of  stupor,  broken  now  and 
then  by  a  low  moan,  or  the  complaining  accent  of  a 
hurt  child,  —  "  Oh,  dee  !  dee  !  dee  !  "  coming  from  the 
weary  lips  of  dying  age,  and  rending  the  ear  that 
heard,  with  sharp  and  cruel  pity,  and  Esther  was 
motherless ;  the  calm  of  death  stilled  the  restless  lips, 
the  wailing  cry,  the  vain  appeal  of  the  tortured  eyes. 

There  was  another  funeral  from  the  Dyer  house, 
and  after  it  was  over,  Sybil  Salstonstall  led  her  friend 
away  to  her  own  home  and  tried  her  best  to  pierce 
the  gloom  and  silence  that  had  settled  on  that  bright 
face  and  eager,  generous  heart. 

For  Sybil,  wise  with  her  own  painful  experience, 
had  long  seen  that  Esther  loved  Philip  Kent,  and 
feared  as  long  that  her  life  would  be  shipwrecked  on 
that  affection. 

Young  as  she  was,  she  had  a  keen  appreciation  of 
character,  and  she  knew  that  a  love  so  lavish,  so  un 
concealed,  so  utter,  as  Esther's,  would  be  but  a  mo 
mentary  amusement  to  Philip. 


A   WILL.  143 

And  she  had  judged  him  rightly  ;  Annetje  Stuyve- 
sant  had  won  him  by  her  very  coldness ;  her  appear 
ance  of  carelessness  ;  her  insistant  dignity ;  her  ap 
parent  self-respect. 

No  caresses  were  permitted  him,  even  after  their 
betrothal,  except  for  earnest  pleading  and  humble  re 
monstrance. 

Here,  too,  was  the  old  French  saying  that  in  all 
love  affairs  there  is,  "  L'un  qul  baise,  et  Vautre  qui  tend 
la j one"  carried  out;  if  Annetje  held  her  fair  cold 
cheek  even,  it  was  as  a  royal  favor,  and  duly  appre 
ciated. 

For  in  her  soul  self-love  reigned ;  she  wanted  to  be 
worshipped,  but  burned  no  incense  herself  ;  she  cared 
to  have  an  adorer,  but  she  only  adored  the  face  in  her 
mirror;  and  Philip,  equally  selfish,  was  stimulated 
by  the  difficulty  of  attaining  a  creature  so  beautiful, 
who  must  be,  he  argued,  a  prize  indeed,  since  she  so 
valued  herself.  A  nature  like  his  could  never  per 
ceive  the  fact  that  the  highest  characters  are  the  sim 
plest,  the  most  generous ;  he  could  hold  nothing 
valuable  that  was  free;  nothing  worth  having  that 
did  not  imply  difficulty  of  possession ;  the  air  that 
flowed  about  him,  the  abundant  light  of  heaven,  the 
stintless  bloom  of  field  and  forest,  were  of  no  value 
in  his  eyes  ;  idle  adjuncts  of  common  life,  neither  to 
be  cared  for  or  prized ;  the  slow  trickling  spring  on  a 
mountain-peak,  the  rare  orchid  of  a  hothouse,  the 
odor  of  a  costly  blossom  might  charm  him  ;  he  wanted 
to  make  a  queen  his  thrall ;  a  willing  slave  filled  him 
with  contempt. 


144  STEADFAST. 

He  had  found  it  pleasant  enough  to  be  worshipped, 
to  see  Esther's  soul  shine  in  her  eyes  when  he  threw 
her  a  tender  word,  or  the  rich  color  come  and  go  in 
her  face  when  he  caressed  her;  it  was  pleasant  for  a 
time  to  feel  her  sweet  cool  lips  quiver  and  tremble 
under  his  long  kisses  ;  and  she  had  served  a  convenient 
purpose  in  regard  to  his  uncle's  will ;  but  what  were 
all  these  to  the  charms  of  Annetje  Stuyvesant's  co 
quetry  ?  the  uncertainty  that  tantalized  and  bewitched 
him  in  her  manner  ?  the  cold  beautiful  eyes  and  lips 
that  maddened  him  with  longing  to  make  them  burn 
and  thrill  ? 

He  hung  between  heaven  and  earth  till  he  de 
spaired,  and  then  a  coy  smile,  a  mutine  sparkle  in  those 
steely-blue  eyes,  a  tender  tone  in  the  somewhat  hard 
voice,  would  set  his  heart  beating  and  his  blood  boil 
ing  with  hope  and  passion 

Yet,  perhaps  he  never  would  have  won  Peter  Stuy 
vesant's  proud  daughter,  had  not  her  father  earnestly 
urged  upon  her  the  hand  of  another  man,  and  the 
Dutch  blood  in  the  maiden's  veins  rose  in  obstinate 
revolt  against  the  mere  thought  of  Garret  Heidecker's 
suit. 

But  fathers  were  obstinate  too  in  those  days,  and 
Annetje  knew  her  master;  she  could  not  rebel,  but 
she  could  elude,  and  one  fine  night  she  stole  out  of 
the  stoop  door  with  Philip  Kent;  her  father  being 
well  absorbed  in  drawing  out  the  marriage  contract 
in  his  library,  with  Heidecker  at  his  elbow ;  and  em 
barking  in  a  small  sloop  that  ran  up  the  Hudson,  the 


A   WILL.  145 

pair  were  made  one  by  Dominie  Kraut  at  Spuyten 
Duyvil,  before  Peter  really  discovered  that  his  daugh 
ter  had  not  been  sound  asleep  in  her  bed  all  night. 

Peter,  however,  was  a  wise  man ;  he  put  the  mar 
riage  contract  in  the  fire,  and  hearing,  after  a  while, 
of  Philip's  inheritance,  forgave  his  daughter  and  did 
not  alter  his  will. 

So  Philip  had  an  abundance  of  worldly  goods, 
and  a  conscience  too  well  muzzled  to  trouble  him 
about  sin,  so  long  as  it  succeeded.  He  was  well  rid 
of  Esther,  and  not  having  thought  it  needful  to  attend 
his  aunt's  funeral,  he  was  satisfied  to  hear  that  she 
was  at  Governor  Stanley's,  and  more  amused  than  dis 
turbed  when  Parson  Hall  wrote  to  him  that  she  re 
fused  to  accept  anything  at  his  hands,  even  the 
shelter  of  his  house  ;  now  her  home  no  longer,  but 
full  of  the  saddest  and  bitterest  associations  of  her 
young  life. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

DESPAIR. 
He  talks  to  me  that  never  had  a  son ! 

FOR  a  time  after  her  removal  to  Governor  Stanley's 
house,  Esther  was  like  one  stunned.  Dull  woe  sat  on 
her  rigid  face  ;  her  eyes  were  dark  with  an  inner 
darkness  that  quenched  all  their  glow  and  sparkle ; 
she  ate  as  little  as  would  sustain  life,  and  seemed  to 
care  nothing  about  what  she  tasted ;  had  her  food  been 
gall  and  her  drink  wormwood  she  could  not  have  been 
less  attracted  by  them  ;  her  voice  was  the  very  echo 
of  despair,  and  her  nights  the  blackness  of  darkness, 
for  sleepless  as  she  was,  yet  her  waking  was  full  of 
visions ;  she  walked  with  Philip  again  by  the  shore  of 
that  sea  that  once  murmured  its  summer  passion  at 
their  feet,  and  sprinkled  them  with  the  diamond  dews 
of  its  breaking  wave ;  now  she  heard  its  melancholy 
rote  through  the  midnight,  and  the  crushed  hiss  of 
the  retreating  water  seemed  to  scorn  her,  sinner 
that  she  was  !  But  again  came  the  too  tender  voice, 
the  fond  kisses  burned  on  her  lips,  the  eyes  of  master 
ful  passion  beamed  above  her,  and  the  long  powerful 
fingers  stroked  her  loosened  hair ;  ah  !  how  could  he 
have  loved  and  left  her  ?  Poor  child  ! 

"  That  was  not  love  that  left!  " 

but  she  did  not  know  it. 

146 


DESPAIR.  147 

Then  returned  upon  her  the  maddening  blow  that 
fell  at  her  uncle's  funeral ;  she  lived  over  the  shock ; 
the  choked  breath  that  stifled  her;  the  chaos  that 
seethed  in  her  brain  ;  and  in  natural  sequence  came 
her  mother's  long  illness,  long  to  her  who  counted  its 
moments  of  misery  as  if  they  were  years. 

She  recurred  over  and  over  again  to  that  hour 
when  her  mother,  half  consciously  struggling  with 
death,  whispered  "Pray!"  and  Esther  dared  not  lift 
her  voice  to  God  because  of  her  own  sin ;  the  pathetic, 
childish  wail  of  the  dying  woman  rung  again  on  her 
ear,  and  her  tortured  conscience  fixed  all  its  fangs  on 
her  spiritual  nature  like  an  angry  fiend.  How  could 
she  sleep  ? 

Even  when  exhausted  nature  gave  way,  her  dreams 
were  filled  with  the  voices  and  the  presence  of  the 
dead ;  Uncle  Dyer  looked  at  her  with  grave  reproach ; 
her  mother  was  there  beside  her,  but  would  not 
speak;  her  father,  too,  arose  from  the  grave  to 
rebuke  her ;  it  seemed  to  her  when  she  awoke  that 
all  her  life  had  been  in  the  gates  of  death  ;  that  the 
loving  had  all  forsaken  her  for  a  better  country,  and 
the  living  left  her  of  cruel  purpose. 

When  daylight  came  and  the  light  cares  of  arrang 
ing  her  chamber,  as  became  a  guest  were  over,  she 
tied  on  her  bonnet  and  mantle,  and  slipping  quietly 
out  of  the  house,  began  her  solitary  walk  over  the  dry 
fields  and  hills ;  she  went  on  and  on  as  if  pursued  by 
an  invisible  hunter ;  rain  nor  wind  deterred  her,  her 
whole  soul  was  in  an  interior  tumult  that  defied  the 


148  STEADFAST. 

soulless  tempests  of  nature  with  a  sullen  disregard, 
and  a  fever  that  averted  physical  suffering. 

What  was  it  to  her  that  showers  drenched  her,  or 
fierce  gales  tore  off  her  headgear,  and  blew  her  man 
tle  from  her  grasp  ?  These  were  matters  a  broken 
heart  and  an  indignant  spirit  neither  resented  or 
noticed. 

Day  after  day  she  traversed  the  hills  and  shores  for 
miles  about  Trumbull ;  her  tall,  slight  shape  drawn 
against  the  blue  or  livid  sky,  or  the  white  water  of 
the  surf;  her  face  pallid,  her  gloomy  eyes  fixed,  her 
little  cold  hands  clenched,  and  her  lips  set.  People 
wondered  that  Esther  should  so  mourn  her  mother, 
but  respected  a  grief  so  rare  and  so  genuine ;  happily 
for  her,  but  a  very  few  of  her  best  friends  understood 
another  part  of  her  loss;  not  one  appreciated  its 
keenest  sting,  —  the  sense  of  her  own  sin  in  stealing 
and  destroying  her  uncle's  will. 

For  Esther  was  not  one  of  those  supernatural  young 
women,  sometimes  depicted  in  fiction,  who  could  be 
comforted  for  everything  by  the  selfless  reflection 
that  Philip  had  his  inheritance  secure ;  she  was  only 
a  warm-natured,  impulsive  girl,  with  an  outraged  and 
indignant  heart,  a  lonely  girl,  orphaned  in  every 
sense,  for  with  the  dreadful  logic  of  a  conscience 
educated  in  the  stern  New  England  fashion  of  rigid 
law,  and  unsparing  self-inspection,  she  felt  that  she 
had  no  right  even  to  the  consolations  of  religion; 
that  her  Father  in  heaven,  hitherto  a  mighty,  un 
known,  but  beneficent  parent,  had  become  an  angry 


DESPAIR.  149 

and  an  avenging  God,  and  had  bereaved  her  of  her 
nearest  friends  in  swift  justice,  as  punishment  for  her 
transgression. 

She  felt  as  if  his  finger  had  set  a  mark  upon  her, 
that  no  power  could  efface,  that  she  was  a  reprobate 
in  earth  and  from  heaven. 

A  month  passed  so,  and  Mrs.  Stanley  began  to  feel 
in  her  hard,  sensible  fashion,  that  Esther  was  not  the 
sort  of  guest  she  liked ;  a  decent  and  subdued  mourner, 
who  would  do  her  fitting  share  in  the  household 
occupations,  and  be  "  company  "  for  Sybil,  was  one 
thing ;  she  would  not  have  objected  to  a  few  tears,  or 
sobs  even,  at  proper  times,  if  Esther  had  offered  to 
spin  a  run  or  two  of  thread,  or  superintend  the  cider 
apple-sauce,  or  help  at  the  tambour  frame,  where 
Madame  Stanley  was  sprigging  a  linen  gown  with 
birds,  beasts,  fruits,  and  flowers,  in  all  colors  that  her 
knowledge  of  homely  dyestuffs  allowed ;  but  it  was 
quite  another  thing  to  have  a  silent  image  of  despair 
about,  if  only  at  meals  and  prayers  ;  a  creature  so 
absorbed  and  crushed  as  to  be  a  'memento  mori  when 
in  sight,  and  a  continual  anxiety  when  out  of  it ;  for 
Madam  Stanley  held  these  interminable  walks  of 
Esther  to  be  a  real  indecorum,  and  felt  a  certain  sel 
fish  dread  lest  she  should  break  down  physically 
under  them,  and  become  a  burden  upon  her  hands. 

She  appealed  at  last  to  her  niece,  —  "  Sybil,  I  think 
it  is  unseemly  for  Esther  to  lay  her  losses  to  heart  as 
she  does.  It  becomes  us  all  to  be  resigned  to  the 
Lord's  will ;  and  to  go  abroad  as  she  doth,  at  all 


150  STEADFAST. 

times,  has  an  aspect  of  rebellion.  Moreover,  I  think 
it  is  not  wholesome  for  her  to  tempt  all  weathers  as 
she  doth.  Cannot  you  speak  with  her  ?  " 

Sybil  looked  up  from  the  tambour-frame  with  an 
expression  of  angelic  pity  in  her  great  lucid  eyes. 

"  Dear  aunt,"  she  said,  "  I  think  Esther  is  sore  of 
heart ;  I  know  not  how  to  touch  her  without  giving 
pain." 

"Nevertheless,  pain  is  healing  sometimes,  Sybil. 
I  wonder  that,  being  a  member  of  the  meeting,  Parson 
Hall  doth  not  deal  with  her." 

"  But  she  is  only  on  the  half-way  covenant,  Aunt 
Stanley." 

"  That  hath  its  duties  nevertheless ;  she  should 
not  hold  such  controversy  with  Providence:  if  you 
like  not  to  try  words  with  her,  niece  Sybil,  I  will  do 
so  myself,  or  send  for  Parson  Hall." 

"  I  will,  I  will ! "  answered  Sybil,  hastily ;  she 
dreaded  that  her  aunt  should  touch  Esther's  wound 
with  such  cautery  as  her  hard  spirit  would  be  sure  to 
administer. 

Little  did  Madam  Stanley  think  that  the  poor  girl 
sheltered  under  her  roof  was  much  further  from  hold 
ing  any  controversy  with  Providence  than  she  her 
self  !  Esther  submitted  to  her  "  judgment "  as  she 
considered  it,  with  the  submission  of  despair;  the 
words  of  Scripture  echoed  through  her  brain  with  re- 
iterant  force,  "  I  acknowledge  my  transgression,  and 
my  sin  is  ever  before  me  !  Against  Thee,  Thee  only 
have  I  sinned,  and  done  this  evil  in  Thy  sight ! " 


DESPAIR.  151 

If  she  could  have  been  as  indignant  with  her  Maker 
as  she  was  with  Philip,  her  soul  would  have  been  in  a 
more  hopeful  condition ;  anger  is  a  healthier  passion 
than  despair,  and  has  in  it  far  more  re-constructive 
elements ;  it  was  the  heaviest  and  most  hopeless  of 
all  Esther's  burdens,  that  she  had  no  self-respect  to 
uphold  her  in  this  sea  of  trouble. 

One  night  after  prayers,  a  ceremony  duly  observed 
by  the  governor  when  he  was  at  home,  and  by  Madam 
Stanley  in  his  absence,  a  most  dry  and  formal  service, 
and  to  Esther's  pre-occupied  thoughts,  a  dead  letter, 
Sybil  followed  her  friend  upstairs  to  her  chamber. 

Esther  had  put  out  her  candle  as  soon  as  she  entered 
the  door,  and  Sybil,  following  close  on  her  steps, 
rapped  lightly  and  came  in  ;  the  hunter's  moon  at  its 
glorious  height  filled  the  low-ceiled  chamber  with 
cold  radiance.  Esther  sat  in  the  broad  seat  of  the 
south  window,  motionless,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  glit 
tering  waves  that  plashed  gently  through  the  soft 
autumnal  air,  her  lips  as  calm  and  sad  as  some  monu 
mental  statue ;  she  did  not  move  when  Sybil  came  up 
to  her  and  slipping  to  the  floor  at  her  feet  coaxed 
apart  the  cold  hands  clasped  round  her  knee,  and  lay 
ing  her  cheek  softly  on  the  palm  of  the  one  nearest 
her  said,  in  the  tenderest  tones,  — 

"  Dear  Esther,  cannot  I  comfort  you  ?  " 
Esther  turned  on  her  a  glowing  gaze,  but  answered 
nothing. 

"  I  grieve  so  for  you,  Esther :  I  know  your  sorrows 
my  poor  girl ;  I  also  am  an  orphan." 


152  STEADFAST, 

"A-a-ah!"  a  sharp  hissing  sigh  parted  Esther's 
closed  lips ;  an  orphan  !  was  not  this  that  Sybil  so 
pitied  the  least  of  her  great  troubles  ?  Sybil  shivered. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,  cannot  I  say  something  to  help 
you  ?  cannot  you  talk  to  me  ?  " 

"  Talk  to  you ! "  said  Esther,  with  a  little  bitter 
laugh,  worse  than  a  cry.  "  You,  Sybil,  always  good 
and  calm ;  why  should  I  talk  to  you  about  fire,  when 
the  smell  of  it  hath  never  touched  your  garment  ?  " 

"  Are  you  so  sure  ?  "  Sybil  answered,  in  the  lowest 
voice. 

"  You  !  do  not  I  see  your  still  face  and  your  pray 
ing  eyes,  always  pure,  always  sweet  ?  Sybil,  were 
you  ever  desperate  ?  " 

"Xo,  Esther,  for  the  Lord  liveth;  I  can  never 
despair;  ' though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in 
Him.'  " 

Esther  turned  her  face  and  looked  down  at  the  sad 
triumph  in  the  beautiful  countenance  at  her  knee; 
how  could  she  tell  Sybil  that  a  great  sin  came  between 
her  and  the  goodness  of  God  ? 

"  Listen,  Esther,"  Sybil  went  on  ;  and  her  voice 
neither  failed  or  faltered  as  she  told  in  as  few  words 
as  she  could  the  story  of  her  temptation  and  her 
victory.  It  was  like  setting  before  her  an  awful,  yet 
beautiful  martyrdom,  unknown  to  man ;  a  stake  and 
fagot  invisible,  a  burnt  sacrifice  of  the  heart,  an  offer 
ing  to  God  of  the  first-born.  Esther  quailed  as  she 
heard  ;  there  was  no  comfort  in  it  for  her ;  only  a 
comparison  of  saint  and  sinner  that  plunged  her  into 


DESPAIR.  153 

deeper  self-contempt,  and  stung  her  into  frantic  bit 
terness. 

"  You  call  that  love  ?  "  she  said,  with  hot  scorn. 
"  Why  had  I  loved  —  well,  any  man  ;  I  would  have 
given  him  my  very  soul.  What  would  heaven  be 
without  him  ?  What  .should  I  care  for  hell  if  he  were 
there,  too  ? 

"  Esther  ! "  said  Sybil  in  a  tone  of  horror,  rising  to 
her  feet,  pale  and  fair  in  the  moonlight  as  an  accus 
ing  angel,  shocked  in  every  fibre  of  her  nature,  "  Have 
you  no  God  ?  " 

Esther  laughed  again. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  have  a  God,  an  avenging  God ;  '  infi 
nite,  eternal,  and  unchangeable  in  his  being,  wisdom, 
power,  holiness,  justice,  goodness,  and  truth/  At 
least,  the  catechism  says  so  !  But  what  has  that  God 
to  do  with  a  sinner  but  to  punish  ?  Do  you  think  I 
resisted  like  you  ?  I  am  not  a  stone  !  A-a-ah ! "  Again 
the  long,  bitter  sigh  that  was  all  but  a  groan,  and 
spoke  more  than  any  words,  rasped  on  Sybil's  ear. 

What  should  she  say  to  this  wretched  girl  whose 
face  was  stamped  with  such  passion,  such  despair  ? 

Sybil  was  unlearned  in  the  tender  message  of  the 
Gospel ;  the  Law,  in  all  its  unflinching  sternness,  was 
the  customary  preaching  and  teaching  of  her  day ;  if 
here  and  there  a  soul  taught  of  heaven  recounted  the 
old,  old  story,  of  One  who  came  to  seek  and  to  save 
the  lost,  to  pity  and  forgive  the  chiefest  of  sinners, 
there  was  a  stir  of  trouble,  a  clamor  for  doctrines,  a 
murmur  of  "  right-hand  defections,  and  left-hand  fall- 


154  STEADFAST. 

ings  off,"  that  silenced  the  gentle  spirit,  and  daunted 
with  Puritan  gfimness  all  efforts  to  set  aside  the 
stark  routine  of  duty  and  decrees. 

But  the  very  spirit  of  heaven  filled  Sybil's  soul; 
horror  gave  place  to  a  divine  pity ;  she  laid  her  cool 
hand  011  Esther's  burning  forehead,  looked  steadily 
into  the  eyes  that  burned  with  wrath  and  scorn. 

"  My  poor  sister ! "  she  said,  lowly  and  slowly, 
"the  Lord  heal  thee  from  thy  bitterness  even  as  he 
healed  the  fountain  of  Marah  by  His  rod ! " 

Esther's  head  sank  into  her  hands ;  she  could  nei 
ther  speak  nor  move :  Sybil  was  far,  far  above  her 
plane,  she  could  not  even  reach  after  her,  but  as  she 
passed  out  of  the  chamber  door  those  gloomy  eyes 
followed  her  with  a  look  of  adoration  and  abject 
despair,  though  the  lips  dropped  no  word  of  recall. 

"Well,"  said  Aunt  Stanley,  when  Esther  closed  the 
parlor  door  behind  her,  after  breakfast  the  next  day, 
"  have  you  spoke  with  Esther,  Sybil  ?  " 

"Yes,  aunt." 

"And  I  trust  you  took  her  to  do,  smartly;  these 
airs  are  unseemly  enough.  Hath  there  been  no  sor 
row  in  the  world  before,  that  she  should  make  such  a 
matter  of  hers  ?  " 

"Aunt  Stanley,  I  believe  that  Esther  is  in  deep 
straits  of  soul ;  I  cannot  reach  her.  I  have  done  my 
best ;  she  is  at  variance  with  God  and  man  it  seem- 
eth  to  me.  I  wish  Parson  Hall  could  be  fetched  to 
see  her  without  her  knowledge  of  his  purpose.  I 
think  it  may  be  he  could  deal  with  her  as  I  cannot." 


DESPAIR.  155 

"  He  shall  come  !  "  said  the  Madam,  who  was  wont 
to  have  her  word  law. 

But  happily  for  Esther,  she  met  Mr.  Hall  that  day 
far  out  on  the  sandhills,  where  she  had  wandered ;  he 
came  upon  her  sitting  in  the  long,  glittering  grass  as 
yet  unseared  by  frost,  that  waved  around  the  shel 
tered  hollow  into  which  she  had  sunk,  tired  with  the 
length  of  the  way.  Before  her  spread  the  water,  blue 
as  the  heavens  above  it ;  white  gulls  played  up  and 
down,  from  sky  to  sea ;  a  screaming  fish-hawk  soared, 
poised,  darted  down  on  its  prey,  and  flapped  heavily 
away  to  his  perch  in  a  dead  oak-tree,  but  Esther  saw 
them  not ;  she  did  not  even  start  when  Mr.  Hall  ap 
peared  upon  the  beach,  drew  near,  and  sat  down  be 
side  her ;  she  bent  her  head  in  greeting,  but  neither 
smiled  or  spoke. 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  come  upon  you  here,  Esther," 
he  said,  gravely  and  gently.  "I  have  wished  much 
to  see  you ;  and  here  in  the  peace  of  the  shore  I  can 
speak  with  you  more  freely  than  when  there  are  others 
at  hand." 

Esther  was  silent. 

Mr.  Hall  looked  at  her  with  the  deepest  compas 
sion  ;  he  understood  her  better  far  than  Sybil  did,  for 
he  had  lived  longer,  —  "  My  dear  young  friend,"  he 
went  on.  "  I  grieve  to  see  you  so  entirely  stricken 
down  by  the  chastisements  that  have  come  upon  you. 
Are  you  right,  Esther,  in  giving  up  your  young  life  to 
such  distress  ?  Have  you  not  much  left  still  to  be 
thankful  for  ?"  


1 56  STEADFAST. 

"  Have  I  ?  "  she  answered,  looking  back  on  her 
loveless  youth ;  her  broken  hopes  and  purposes ;  her 
sin.  "  I  do  not  think  I  have,  sir.  I  do  not  think 
God  wishes  me  to  lie  to  Him.  He  knows  I  am  not 
thankful  for  my  life,  and  I  will  not  pretend  to  be  !  " 

"  My  child  !  "  he  said,  sadly.  "  Think  of  what  you 
deserve,  rather  than  of  what  you  have  desired." 

Esther's  eye  kindled,  and  the  dark  blood  flushed 
her  cheek;  her  voice  was  harsh  with  pain  and  de 
fiance. 

"Why  do  I  deserve  it?  Did  I  ask  to  be  born  ? 
Was  I  ever  inquired  of  if  I  was  willing  to  have  life 
with  all  its  sufferings  and  responsibilities  thrust  upon 
me  ?  And  yet  you  say  He  expects  me  to  be  thankful 
for  it.  I  will  not  lie  to  God !  I  have  had  enough  of 
lying!" 

He  looked  at  her  with  that  divine  pity  that  is 
unisonous  with  the  divinest  love ;  had  Goody  Jones, 
dirty,  crooked,  and  withered,  propounded  to  him  such 
heretical  sentiments,  perhaps  a  just  and  stern  remon 
strance  would  have  been  her  portion  ;  but  Philemon 
Hall  was  a  man,  and  Esther  Dennis  a  beautiful  girl, 
in  deep  distress.  Parson  Hall  was  wise  too,  as  well 
as  harmless ;  he  made  answer  according  to  his  light. 
"  We  will  not  guide  the  hand  of  God,  Esther ;  '  what 
thou  knowest  not  now,  thou  shalt  know  hereafter.'  I 
want  to  give  your  thoughts  a  new  direction ;  I  want 
to  set  you  to  work." 

Esther  stared ;  with  the  unconscious  selfishness  of 
youth  she  had  made  her  sorrow  fill  the  world.  .  She: 


DESPAIB.  157 

had  thought  it  too  much  to  suffer  her  wrong  ;  she  had 
not  looked  at  any  other  creature's  good  or  ill ;  given 
a  thought  to  any  trouble  but  her  own.  "  Was  ever 
sorrow  like  unto  my  sorrow,"  was  her  ignorant  out 
cry.  She  was  surprised  and  disgusted  that  Parson 
Hall  should  think  of  her  as  a  possible  help  to  any 
one,  so  shipwrecked  was  her  heart  and  soul. 
But  the  parson  knew  better ! 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    CHANGE. 
Look  not  every  man  upon  his  own  things. 

PARSON  HALL  went  on  in  his  calm  voice,  "  I  know 
you  must  be  considering  how  to  take  up  your  life 
when  you  shall  leave  Madam  Stanley's  house." 

Esther  looked  up  at  him  sharply :  she  had  not 
given  one  thought  to  the  future  ;  she  had  not  any 
idea  of  being  a  guest  or  a  dependent,  any  more  than 
a  shipwrecked  mariner  who  has  been  thrown  up  by 
the  storm  under  the  shelter  of  a  friendly  cliff,  and 
lies  gasping  and  placid  in  its  shadow,  thinks  of  going 
into  business  and  making  money ;  or  of  creeping  back 
into  the  tumultuous  sea. 

"  I  have  thought  of  nothing,"  she  said,  in  a  low, 
hoarse  voice. 

She  meant,  as  women  do  mean  when  they  say  that, 
that  she  had  only  thought  of  one  thing,  and  Parson 
Hall  knew  it. 

"  Think  upon  it  now,  then,  Esther,"  he  said,  with 
austere  gravity.  "  You  are  young,  your  life  is  yet  to 
come,  and  to  be  endured  if  it  cannot  be  enjoyed.  The 
Lord  hath  work  for  each  of  us ;  and  you  cannot  give 
all  your  days  to  mourning ;  you  must  awake  and  work 
to-day  in  the  vineyard." 

158 


A   CHANGE.  159 

With  his  words  Esther  did  awake ;  at  least,  par 
tially  ;  it  flashed  upon  her  that  Madam  Stanley  had 
of  late  eyed  her  with  disapproval,  that  Sybil  since 
their  conversation  that  night  in  the  chamber  had 
shunned  her  a  little,  and  looked  at  her  with  an  ex 
pression  of  fear  as  well  as  pity  ;  these  things  returned 
to  her  now,  a  kind  of  moral  palimpsest,  coming  to  light 
as  impressions  do,  received  unconsciously,  but  yet 
stamped  on  her  brain ;  a  sort  of  terror  seized  her,  she 
was  so  homeless,  so  helpless. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of 
terror  and  grief. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  for  you,  Esther,"  answered 
Parson  Hall.  "  I  have  talked  with  Miss  Temperance 
Tucker  of  late;  she  came  to  Trumbull,  sent  for  to 
hear  the  reading  of  Mr,  Dyer's  will,  therefore  expect 
ing  to  be  therein  remembered." 

Esther  winced ;  here  again  her  sin  had  found  her 
out.  Mr.  Hall  went  on,  — 

"But  being  here  she  thinks  to  remain,  if  she  can 
make  it  possible  ;  our  salt  air  hath  a  beneficial  effect 
on  her  asthma;  now  Goody  Green,  who  hath  kept 
the  dame  school  for  the  lesser  children,  is  a  mind  to 
give  it  up  and  dwell  with  her  daughter  in  Hartford, 
hereafter,  being  extreme  rheumatical.  It  has  come 
to  me  that  if  Miss  Temperance  and  you,  having  about 
the  same  amount  of  worldly  goods,  should  take  Goody 
Green's  house;  and  you  were  willing  to  teach  the 
school,  she  doing  the  housework  as  her  part,  to  make 
up  for  the  further  incoming  of  money  on  your  part. 


160  STEADFAST. 

from  the  school,  that  you  would  be  doing  a  good 
work,  and  provide  her,  a  lonely  woman,  with  a  home." 

Mr.  Hall  knew  Esther  better  than  she  did  herself. 
Just  now  she  cared  so  little  what  became  of  her,  that 
had  he  based  his  plan  on  her  own  wants  she  would 
have  turned  away  from  it;  her  desire  was  merely 
to  die,  yet  she  shrunk  from  the  contemplation  of  fu 
ture  wrath  ;  and  knew  too  well  the  doom  of  that  rash 
mortal  who  should  anticipate  the  Lord's  time,  and 
end  life  before  He  summoned  his  over-weary  creature. 
But  underneath  Esther's  impulsive,  eager,  passion- 
driven  nature,  lay  a  great,  warm  heart ;  a  heart  yet 
to  be  developed  into  its  strength  and  loveliness  ;  she 
began  to  consider  favorably  the  prospect  of  helping 
another  lonely  and  homeless  woman. 

"I  will  think  of  it,  and  I  thank  you,"  she  said, 
slowly,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat,  and  went  her  way 
homeward. 

Parson  Hall  sent  upward  an  earnest,  if  silent 
prayer  as  he  watched  her  languid,  graceful  figure 
disappear  among  the  sand  dunes  and  the  glittering 
grass.  He  longed  for  Rachel  to  touch  with  her 
woman's  tact  the  sore  heart  of  this  girl,  and  show  to 
her  the  way  of  healing ;  never  had  he  missed  his  wife 
so  much  as  to-day ;  she  had  been  so  long  his  counsel 
lor  and  helper  that  he  undervalued  his  own  penetra 
tion  >  and, his  own  power.  But  Parson  Hall  made  a 
mistake ;  no  woman,  however  wise  or  saintly,  could 
have  roused  Esther  as  he  had;  in  that  time,  women 
ot  discovered,  that  new  gospel,  to  them  a  gos- 


A   CHANGE.  161 

pel,  which  sets  woman  on  an  equality  with  man  ; 
then,  the  old  ordinance  of  God  in  Eden,  the  result 
and  need  of  woman's  sin  and  weakness  after  the  fall, 
"  He  shall  rule  over  thee  ! "  had  not  been  abrogated 
by  the  specious  reasoning  of  the  "strong-minded" 
sex  !  In  those  days,  women  did  not  head  conventions, 
occupy  pulpits,  scour  the  country  speechifying,  or 
clamor  in  print  as  well  as  vocally  to  be  put  on  the 
same  plane  with  men.  St.  Paul  had  not  been  sneered 
and  jeered  at,  and  relegated  to  the  days  of  darkness ; 
and  his  fiat  that  "  It  is  a  shame  for  women  to  speak 
in  the  church,"  was  not  virtually  omitted  from  the 
words  of  inspiration  by  the  argument  that  times  and 
manners  have  changed  since  then.  Still,  the  ordina 
tion  of  God  and  the  laws  of  His  natural  world  made 
the  man  head  and  protector  of  the  woman,  and  when 
to  his  native  position  he  added  the  office  of  priest  it 
was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  his  counsel  would  be 
authoritative  and  weighty. 

Esther  considered  what  Parson  Hall  had  said,  all 
the  way  back  to  Madam  Stanley's  house.  It  was 
hard  enough  for  her  to  take  up  life  again,  but  it  was 
evident  that  she  could  not  escape  from  that  burden ; 
she  did  not  know  Miss  Temperance  well ;  she  had 
seen  her  during  her  mother's  last  illness,  when  her 
brain  was  reeling  with  Philip's  desertion  and  her 
heart  dull  with  impending  loss  ;  but  she  only  recalled 
a  short,  energetic  little  figure,  with  wiry  black  hair 
brushed  up  over  a  small  cushion,  but  so  indomitably 
curly  that  it  waved,  and  frizzed,  and  bristled  out  in  a 


162  STEADFAST. 

hundred  resolute  little  quiiis  above  the  low  forehead 
and  snapping  black  eyes  of  the  dark,  shrewd  face 
below. 

•  Esther's  bruised  soul  longed  for  some  soft  and 
yielding  creature  to  comfort  and  caress  it ;  her  nature 
trended  strongly  toward  indolence  and  enjoyment; 
with  wealth  and  pleasure  at  command,  she  would 
have  been  a  selfish  sybarite ;  the  sharp,  wintry  wind 
of  sorrow  was  needed  to  arouse  and  develop  her 
better  nature,  however  she  shrank  from  its  discipline. 
She  went  to  her  room,  and  locked  the  door  as  soon  as 
she  reached  the  house.  She  must  be  alone  to  en 
counter  her  new  idea,  and  resolve  on  her  future 
course.  More  and  more  as  she  looked  on  Mr.  HalFs 
plan,  she  perceived  that  it  was  not  only  wise  and  kind, 
but  that  there  was  no  other  way  open  for  .her.  When 
she  went  down  to  supper,  she  had  resolved  to  accept 
the  position,  and  make  the  best  of  it,  and  was  com 
forted  against  the  hard  look  of  Madam  Stanley's  cold 
steel-blue  eyes  by  the  consciousness  that  she  should 
soon  be  out  of  their  range,  and  freed  from  at  least 
the  daily  obligation  to  her  chilly  charity. 

After  supper  and  prayers  Esther  laid  her  intentions 
before  her  hostess.  Mrs.  Stanley  was  pleased  evi 
dently. 

"  I  think  it  a  good  thing,  Esther :  it  does  not 
become  any  of  us  to  feel  that  we  are  vainly  afflicted, 
or  spend  our  days  in  mourning,  when  we  pass  under 
the  rod  of  Jehovah.  I  believe  this  is  an  appointed 
means  to  help  you.  But  I  would  have  you  to  remem- 


A   CHANGE.  163 

her  that  both  my  husband  and  I  stand  ready  at  any 
time  to  aid  and  protect  the  niece  of  our  friend  Joshua 
Dyer." 

Esther  stooped  hastily,  and  put  her  hot  lips  on 
Madam  Stanley's  hand  ;  but  she  said  nothing.  Sybil 
held  open  her  arms,  and  the  lonely  girl  laid  her  face  - 
against  that  fair  cheek,  still  speechless.  She  knew 
the  tender  embrace  was  heartfelt  and  honest,  just  as 
she  knew  Madam  Stanley's  words  were  formal  and 
unfeeling.  As  Sybil  drew  her  down  on  the  quaint 
old  rush-bottomed  settee,  with  its  painted  and  gilded 
woodwork,  that  stood  across  the  end  of  the  keeping- 
room,  Mrs.  Stanley  placed  herself  in  a  tall,  straight- 
backed  chair,  took  out  her  knotting-bag,  and,  anxious 
to  turn  the  subject  of  her  companions'  thoughts,  per 
haps,  also,  conscious  that  Esther  had  felt  her  coldness, 
began  to  speak  of  the  trivial  happenings  and  hearings 
of  the  day.  Presently  she  said,  — 

"I  hear  that  John  Stonebridge  is  coming  to  my 
uncle's  at  the  Point.  They  will  hold  their  Christmas 
revels  there,  instead  of  in  the  city  this  year.  I 
would  that  these  Puritan  folk  about  us  could  at  least 
respect  that  holy  festival  of  the  Church  of  England  !  " 

Esther  felt  Sybil  shiver.  She  saw  in  one  swift 
glance  that  her  face  was  colorless  as  the  kerchief 
about  her  throat.  She  made  no  other  visible  sign, 
but  clasped  Esther's  hand  so  tightly  that  there  were 
deep,  white  marks  left  on  the  pink  of  that  soft  palm. 
Esther  longed  to  clasp  her  to  her  own  desolate  bosom, 
and  so  express  her  sympathy,  for  she  saw  that  Sybil 


164  STEADFAST. 

suffered ;  yet  her  pity  was  not  absolute,  for  she  could 
not  understand  why  her  friend  should  deliberately 
deny  and  stifle  her  own  heart  for  a  mere  difference  of 
opinion,  as  Esther  thought.  Sybil's  heart  was  wrung : 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  could  not  meet  John  Stone- 
bridge  again ;  yet  with  the  very  spirit  of  a  martyr 
she  "  betook  herself  to  prayer,"  as  the  old  chronicles 
have  it,  and  in  silent  endurance  and  f;iith  waited  for 
her  trial. 

But  before  Christmas  came,  Esther  had  left  the 
Stanley  mansion ;  it  was  easier  to  Sybil  to  bear  her 
apprehension  when  her  friend's  tender  eyes  and  sym 
pathetic  voice  no  longer  tested  severely  her  self-con 
trol  ;  she  was  in  that  cruel  condition  when  "  oil  and 
balsams  kill,"  when  the  cold  eye  and  careless  speech 
of  Madam  Stanley  were  better  than  consolation ;  were 
such  a  strength  as  the  tense  rope  and  the  staves  sunk 
in  ice  give  to  the  traveller  over  an  Alpine  glacier; 
the  chill  unconsidered  in  the  aid  they  give. 

It  seemed  strange  to  Esther,  when  she  now  and 
then  considered  it,  that  she  could  so  soon  begin  to 
interest  herself  in  outside  things  :  she  did  not  know 
how  her  youth  helped  her. 

Miss  Tempy  Tucker,  too,  was  a  person  who  was  not 
to  be  ignored  by  the  most  pre-occupied  mind :  she 
asserted  herself  piquantly  wherever  she  went,  and 
had  that  rare  faculty  a  few  women  possess  of  making 
any  place  she  inhabited  homelike  and  cheerful.  The 
tiny  house  Goody  Green  had  lived  in  was  plain 
enough  outside ;  within,  boasting  only  of  two  rooms 


A  CHANGE.  165 

in  front,  and  a  long  kitchen  behind :  it  had  once  been 
a  block-house,  and  its  thick  walls  made  pleasant  seats 
now  in  the  windows  below  stairs ;  a  sharp-pitched 
roof,  with  dormer  windows  in  it,  gave  room  for  two 
small  chambers  above,  warm  in  winter  from  the  heat 
of  the  great  central  chimney,  and  cool  in  summer 
from  the  draught  of  the  sea  breeze  right  across  them 
from  window  to  window. 

One  of  these  front  rooms,  approached  from  the 
green  yard  by  an  east  door,  was  used  as  a  schoolroom ; 
the  floor  was  bare  of  covering  other  than  the  white 
sand  strown  fresh  every  morning  over  the  boards. 
Around  the  wall  low  benches  were  ranged,  and  in  the 
open  fireplace,  hickory  and  maple  logs  simmered, 
flamed,  and  sparkled  through  the  winter,  to  be  re 
placed  in  summer  by  a  big  "  bow-pot "  of  flowers,  or 
leafy  boughs,  which  it  was  the  children's  delight  to 
furnish. 

While  Miss  Tempy  set  the  house  in  order,  Goody 
Green  still  kept  her  young  flock,  and  hammered  cate 
chism  and  primer  into  their  shock  heads  in  the  kitchen 
of  a  neighbor,  who  was  kindly  enough  to  spare  it  for 
ten  days. 

"  Now,  Easter,  lets  you  and  me  fly  round,"  said  brisk 
Miss  Tempy.  "  I  want  to  get  to  livin'  again  as  soon 
as  the  law  allows.  I  don't  call  it  livin'  to  be  a-visitin' 
round  as  I  be,  a-feelin'  all  the  time  that  short  stays 
make  a  long  welcome ;  besides  bein'  in  other  folkses 
houses  ain't  noway  to  my  taste.  I'd  ruther  live  in 
my  own  boughten  hogshead  than  in  another  person's 


166  STEADFAST. 

four-story  mansion.  You  and  me  will  be  as  snug  as 
a  bumble-bee's  nest  when  we  get  fixed." 

Esther  smiled.  Miss  Tempy's  voluble  cheer  was 
contagious. 

"  I  am  ready  to  do  whatever  is  to  be  done,  Miss 
Tempy,"  she  said,  in  a  steady  tone. 

'•'  \Yell,  first  an'  foremost,  I  wish  't  you  could  settle 
to  call  me  Aunt  Tempy.  I  don't  really  hanker  to 
have  *  Miss '  thrown  at  me  continual.  I  know  I've 
missed  of  a  man  so  fur,  —  ef  'tis  a  miss,  —  and  so  fur 
forth  I  haven't,  as  I  knows  of,  wanted  one,  but  still 
'tis  a  kind  of  a  slur  to  be  full  forty-five  and  a  onmar- 
ried  spinster ;  besides,  I'm  sort  of  connected  with 
you,  if  there  ain't  no  relationship  by  blood,  and  it  is 
real  pleasant  to  make  believe  as  though  I  had  some 
kin  to  call  me  by  name.  Can  you  fetch  your  mind 
to  't  ?  " 

"I  shall  like  to,"  said  Esther,  with  a  smile,  touched 
by  the  loneliness  and  solitude  the  request  conveyed. 

"  I  haven't  anybody  either,  Aunt  Tempy  ;  not  any 
kith  or  kin  in  the  world.  I  am  glad  to  have  an  aunt." 

Miss  Tempy  nodded  with  satisfaction,  and,  tying 
on  her  check  apron,  she  soon  introduced  Esther  into 
the  busy  work  of  arranging  the  house  they  were  to 
occupy.  Miss  Tempy  had  sent  for  her  furniture 
the  week  before.  It  had  come  safely  on  ox-sleds,  for 
now  the  snow  lay  deep  all  over  the  land ;  it  had 
fallen  early,  and  it  was  well  for  Esther  that  she  had 
occupation  and  exercise  of  another  kind,  now  that  her 
long  walks  were  impossible.  There  was  much  rub- 


A   CHANGE.  167 

bing  and  dusting  and  arranging  to  do,  but  the  little 
parlor,  which  was  to  be  the  sitting-room,  looked  cheer 
ful  enough  when  it  was  at  last  in  order.  A  great 
stuffed  sofa,  covered  with  a  loose  cover  of  red  and 
yellow  India  chintz  stood  against  one  wall,  and  a  long 
frilled  cushion  of  the  same  chintz  made  each  of  the 
two  window-sills,  looking  south  and  west  out  of 
small-paned  windows,  at  once  cheery  and  comforta 
ble.  Miss  Tempy  had  sacrificed  certain  bed-curtains 
for  this  adornment.  Bright  fire-irons  garnished  the 
open  fireplace,  a  low,  wide  rocking-chair,  cushioned 
with  red  moreen,  stood  by  the  hearth  on  one  side,  and 
several  tall,  straight-backed  rush-bottomed  chairs  were 
ranged  about  the  room,  while  a  claw-footed  table, 
round,  and  shining  with  beeswax  and  rubbing,  occu 
pied  one  corner;  a  glass-doored  cupboard  filled  the 
other,  showing  a  small  store  of  cups,  saucers,  plates, 
and  pitchers  of  gay  china,  that  to-day  would  be  worth 
more  than  Miss  Tempy  could  have  imagined.  There 
were  no  pictures  on  the  walls,  which  were  wainscoted 
half-way  up,  and  above  the  panelled  wood  the  wall 
was  painted  a  warm  yellow,  and  stencilled  in  a  scroll 
pattern  with  dark  red.  There  were  shutters  to  the 
windows,  which  could  be  barred  at  night,  and  inside 
were  nankeen  curtains,  gathered  on  a  string  and  tied 
back  with  cord  and  tassels  of  scarlet  yarn,  evidently 
home-made.  No  carpet  covered  the  floor,  but  half  a 
dozen  braided  rugs  lay  about,  one  before  the  fire 
place,  where  opposite  Miss  Tempy's  rocker  a  low 
chair  was  set  for  Esther  ;  and  by  either  jamb  a  narrow 


168  STEADFAST. 

wooden  "  cricket,"  as  stools  were  then  called,  painted 
black,  with  green  stencilling.  Tt  was  a  homely  room 
in  the  primitive  sense;  and  when  candles  were  lit  and 
the  wood  fire  sparkled  on  the  hearth,  it  had  a  peace 
and  cheer  in  its  aspect  denied  to  Uncle  Dyer's  stately 
drawing-room,  or  the  rigid  splendors  of  the  Stanley 
mansion;  and  when,  after  a  look  of  satisfaction  at 
the  exquisitely  clean  kitchen,  with  its  store  of  shining 
pewter  and  old  blue  delft  displayed  on  the  dresser, 
Esther  stole  up  the  little  crooked  front  stair  that 
clung  to  the  chimney-side,  and  almost  forbade  the 
double  outer-door  to  open  fully,  and  crept  into  her 
dimity  curtained-bed,  she  watched  from  her  pillow 
the  wintry  moonlight  making  a  path  of  melancholy 
glory  across  the  heaving  glittering  sea,  till  a  strange 
quiet,  like  that  of  a  child  that  has  sobbed  itself  to 
sleep,  stole  over  her,  and  her  eyes  closed  peacefully, 
lulled  with  the  sense  of  having  once  more  a  real 
home. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AGAIN. 

A  child's  kiss 

Set  on  thy  sighing  lips  shall  make  thee  glad ; 
A  poor  man,  served  by  thee,  shall  make  thee  rich ; 
A  sick  man,  helped  by  thee,  shall  make  thee  strong. 

ESTHER  dreaded  the  opening  day  of  her  school. 
She  had  no  knowledge  of  her  duties  further  than  her 
remembrance  of  her  own  schooldays,  and  those  were, 
she  thought,  doubtful  as  guides  here;  but  Parson 
Hall  had  thought  for  her.  He  had  sent  a  man  to 
make  a  path  through  the  snow  to  the  schoolroom 
door,  as  well  as  the  other  doors ;  and  before  a  child 
arrived  he  was  on  the  spot,  seated  in  a  high  chair  by 
the  fire.  Esther  took  heart  at  once  with  such  an  ally, 
and  smiled  to  see,  as  the  rosy  children  trooped  in,  how 
every  chubby  face  grew  solemn  at  the  sight  of  the 
parson,  although  his  face  was  gentler  and  sweeter 
than  Esther  had  ever  seen  it  before. 

When  caps  and  cloaks  and  hoods  were  all  hung  up 
on  the  row  of  nails  ready  for  them,  and  the  children 
seated  on  their  low  benches,  Parson  Hall  stood  up 
beside  Esther  and  said,  — 

"Children,  this  is  Miss  Dennis,  come  to  teach  you. 

I  hope  you  will  all  be  good,  and  mindful  of  her  orders. 

Scripture  saith  that  'even  a  child  is  known  by  his 

doings,  whether  his  work  be  pure,  and  whether  it  be 

169 


170  STEADFAST. 

right.'  I  trust  there  will  be  a  good  report  of  your 
doings." 

Then  he  made  a  short,  simple  prayer,  and  bade 
them  good-by,  with  a  smile  that  reassured  Esther,  and 
gave  her  courage  to  begin. 

It  is  not  altogether  a  delightful  task  to  teach  the 
very  young  idea  how  to  shoot,  the  received  opinion  of 
the  poet  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding.  It  is 
drudgery  of  the  most  stupid  sort  to  go  over  the  alpha 
bet  day  after  day,  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  make  a 
dozen  or  two  little  shockheads  see  the  difference 
between  M  and  N,  or  B  and  R  and  K;  nor  is  the 
"  Assembly's  Catechism,"  which  in  Esther's  day  was 
a  sine  qua  non  in  all  New-England  teaching,  a  really 
exhilarating  study  for  teacher  or  scholars;  and  the 
long  daily  strife  with  the  natural  restlessness  of  the 
little  human  animals  was  tiresome,  all  the  more  that 
Esther  was  young  enough  to  sympathize  with  it. 

Perpetual  appeal  to  the  water-pail  and  its  tin  dip 
per,  nudgings  of  neighborly  elbows,  squirming  on  the 
hard  benches,  constant  demands  to  sharpen  slate  pen 
cils  on  the  hearth,  to  have  Patty  reproved  for  a  sly 
pinch  bestowed  on  Nancy  or  Betsy  Jane  —  all  these 
weary  trivialities  would  have  sickened  Esther  and 
worn  her  out,  but  for  one  thing.  Suddenly  there 
awakened  in  her  a  passionate  love  of  children  ;  I  say 
awakened,  for  it  was  really  an  integral  part  of  her 
nature,  but  it  had  happened  that  she  had  never  before 
been  brought  into  contact  with  them.  Mr.  Dyer  was 
not  fond  of  them,  and  none  frequented  his  house  ; 


AGAIN.  171 

there  were  no  children  at  the  Stanley  mansion, — 
happily  for  the  children,  —  so  that  their  society, 
"their  tricks  and  their  manners,"  were  wholly  new  to 
Esther,  and  utterly  delightful.  She  was  one  of  those 
women  who  are  born  to  be  mothers,  around  whose 
knees  little  ones  instinctively  crowd  and  cling ;  had 
she  lived  to  be  the  most  ancient  of  spinsters,  she 
would  never  have  outlived  that  charm  that  the  mother- 
heart  gives  to  a  true  woman,  or  ceased  to  covet  the 
caresses  and  companionship  of  children. 

Eager  as  she  was  to  do  her  strict  duty  by  her  little 
school,  earnest  as  to  discipline  and  instruction,  there 
was  a  look  in  her  eyes,  and  a  sweetness  on  her  lips, 
that  gave  confidence  to  every  little  bosom,  and  before 
she  had  held  her  post  a  week,  the  children  all  adored 
her;  and  her  own  heart,  dead  as  she  had  thought 
it,  awoke  and  thrilled  with  the  purest  of  mortal  joys 
at  the  soft  clinging  of  tiny  arms  about  her  neck,  the 
close  pressure  of  round,  childish  cheeks  against  her 
own,  the  tender  little  kisses,  the  pleading  of  loving 
eyes,  the  sound  of  small,  fresh  voices  lisping  or  shrill. 
Her  heart-trouble  was  not  gone,  it  lay  like  the  rocks 
in  a  river  bed,  deep  and  dark  below  the  stream  of 
daily  life ;  but  she  was  comforted,  and  her  thoughts 
diverted  from  herself,  the  first  step  toward  cure. 
Sybil,  who  came  often  to  see  her,  noticed  that  her 
eyes  were  brighter,  her  pale  face  tinted  with  a  new 
glow,  her  voice  more  cheerful ;  but  with  instinctive 
tact  she  avoided  speaking  of  it.  It  too  often  awakens 
a  pain  or  a  grief  to  be  reminded  that  it  is  less  potent 


172  STEADFAST. 

than  it  has  been,  so  curiously  and  sensitively  strung 
together  are  the  alternations  of  thought  and  sense, 
especially  in  women. 

Sybil  was  content  to  witness  and  rejoice  in  Esther's 
quiet  and  peace,  though  she  did  not  understand  its 
source ;  for  Sybil,  though  if  ever  she  should  have 
children  of  her  own  might  love  them,  was  too  dainty, 
too  reserved,  too  fastidious  to  love  the  tiny  race 
merely  because  they  were  children  ;  their  noise,  their 
untidiness,  their  quips  and  tricks,  their  headlong 
caresses,  all  repelled  her.  Esther  was  a  woman  to 
love  even  her  husband  with  a  maternal  passion;  to 
love  him  the  better  the  more  he  needed  her  pity,  her 
care,  or  her  service.  But  with  Sybil  it  was  not  so  ; 
she  wanted  and  needed  a  king  whom  she  could  wor 
ship,  to  whom  she  could  use  the  Miltonic  formula,  — 

"  God  is  thy  law ;  thou,  mine.     To  know  no  more 
Is  woman's  happiest  knowledge." 

a  phrase  which  found  entire  acceptance  with  her. 
She  pitied  Esther  for  the  very  thing  that  made  the 
sweetness  of  her  renewing  life ;  but  had  tact  enough 
to  keep  that  needless  pity  in  her  own  breast. 

Indeed,  the  time  drew  near  when  Sybil's  own  mind 
was  full  of  dread;  and  of  prayer  for  strength  to 
endure  the  presence  of  Colonel  Stonebridge;  for 
though  Christinas  as  a  religious  or  social  festival 
was  scorned  and  ignored  in  Trumbull,  and  but  one 
family  there  were  Episcopalians,  or  "  prelatists,"  in 
the  terms  of  the  day,  yet  Madam  Stanley  had  been 


AGAIN.  173 

brought  up  in  the  Church  of  England ;  and  only  in 
deference  to  her  husband's  faith  and  position  in  the 
colony  went  to  "  meeting,"  so  that  Sybil  knew  well 
when  the  holiday  would  arrive,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
that  the  dark  days  flew  like  swift  birds  by  her,  so 
much  did  she  dread  their  departure.  For  with  all 
the  strength  and  hidden  passion  of  her  intense  but 
reserved  nature,  did  Sybil  Saltonstall  love  John 
Stonebridge ;  his  keen  wit,  his  courage,  his  worldly 
wisdom,  his  intellect,  his  fine,  manly  presence,  his 
social  position,  all  told  on  her  pride,  her  ambition, 
her  latent  vanity,  and  his  eager  passion  touched  the 
very  depths  of  her  heart ;  but  with  her,  duty  ruled 
all  things  ;  the  stern  asceticism  of  her  race  and  her 
education  bade  her  give  up  and  trample  under  foot 
every  longing  of  the  "natural  heart,"  if  it  in  any 
way  thwarted  the  will  of  God,  whose  avowed  and 
faithful  servant  she  was,  and  would  be,  though  earth 
should  fail  from  its  foundations  and  the  firmament 
reel  above  her. 

She  saw  from  her  window,  the  chariot  of  the  Tal- 
cott  family,  John  Stonebridge's  cousins,  drive  past ; 
and  she  knew  it  was  going  to  the  wharf  at  Myannis, 
a  small  town  nine  miles  away,  where  sailing  vessels 
touched  on  their  entrance  to  the  mouth  of  the  Con 
necticut,  to  deliver  lading,  or  such  passengers  as 
might  prefer  sea  to  land  as  the  way  to  journey  to 
certain  points  on  the  coast ;  she  saw  that  same  lofty 
vehicle  pass  the  next  morning  with  a  leathern  valise 
strapped  on  the  rack,  the  black  driver  cracking  his 


174  STEADFAST. 

whip  to  urge  the  horses  onward,  no  doubt  in  haste  to 
warm  his  own  chilly  person,  for  the  day  was  cold, 
sparkling,  and  beautiful  to  look  at,  but  deathly  in  its 
bitter  atmosphere,  and  the  piercing  north  wind  lashed 
the  sea  like  a  scourge,  and  drove  it  backward  even 
further  than  the  ebbing  tide  was  wont  to  go. 

Sybil  shuddered  with  a  deeper  chill  than  the  air 
could  give  her ;  she  did  not  leave  the  house  all  day ; 
and  she  knew  that  none  would  leave  the  Christmas 
revels  at  Judge  Talcott's,  though  now  she  longed  to 
have  her  meeting  with  John  Stonebridge  over.  Still 
he  did  not  come  till  the  evening  of  the  next  day,  and 
when  Mrs.  Stanley  called  Sybil  to  come  down,  she 
went  with  a  certain  desperate  resolution  that  gave 
her  cheek  a  color  and  her  eye  a  brightness  that  had 
long  since  deserted  them.  She  might  well  have 
passed  for  a  crownless  queen,  regnant  by  natural 
rather  than  hereditary  right,  as  she  entered  the  for 
mal  drawing-room  to  receive  Colonel  Stonebridge ; 
her  gown  of  dark  wine-colored  brocade,  figured  with 
trailing  vines  of  hop  leaves  and  blossoms,  fell  away 
over  a  petticoat  of  deep  green  poplin,  half  covered  by 
an  apron  of  India  muslin  and  Mechlin  lace ;  a  hand 
kerchief  of  the  same  delicate  and  costly  materials 
filled  the  low-cut  bosom  of  her  stiff  bodice,  and  frills 
of  the  lace  finished  her  sleeves  at  the  elbow ;  the 
sombre  richness  of  her  dress  brought  into  full  relief 
her  exquisitely  delicate  skin,  her  proud  head  with  its 
high-piled  coronet  of  pale  gold  hair,  unpowdered,  as 
she  wore  it  at  home,  and  seemed  to  enhance  the  sin- 


AGAIN.  176 

gular  clearness  of  her  sea-gray  eyes,  as  encroaching 
clouds  heighten  the  lustre  of  the  nearer  stars. 

John  Stonebridge  thought  she  had  never  looked  so 
lovely,  and  his  face  expressed  his  thought  as  he  re 
ceived  and  answered  her  coldly  civil  greeting;  ten 
minutes  after  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  look 
so  ill.  The  glow  of  resolution  and  will  faded,  he 
could  see  that  the  pale  cheeks  were  thin,  the  temples 
hollow,  the  small,  rounded  ear,  surest  index  of 
exhaustion,  white  as  wax,  and  the  arms  half  shaded 
by  their  wide  laces  were  lifeless,  nerveless,  wasted ; 
while  the  eyes  that  had  now  lost  their  sparkle  were 
wide  and  sad  as  the  melancholy  winter  moon  ;  neither 
bracelets  nor  rings  adorned  those  fragile  wrists  and 
fingers,  blue  veins  traced  their  too  prominent  record 
along  the  transparent  skin ;  John  Stonebridge  felt  a 
throb  of  pride  to  see  that  she  had  really  suffered,  and 
suffered  for  him  ;  that  masculine  pride  which  rejoices 
in  power  and  disregards  pain,  when  the  power  is 
theirs  and  the  pain  another's.  If  Sybil  could  have 
read  his  heart  at  that  moment  her  own  would  have 
recoiled  with  the  shock  of  the  recognition,  but,  for 
good  and  evil  both,  we  wear  that  organ  hidden  from 
the  eye  of  our  fellows,  and  she  only  saw  the  courte 
ous  grace  of  figure,  the  bold,  handsome  visage,  and 
nerved  herself  afresh  to  resist  temptation. 

But  John  Stonebridge  had  known  a  great  many 
women,  and  had  plenty  of  love  affairs  ;  he  showed  no 
desire  or  intention  to  renew  his  addresses  to  Miss 
Saltonstall;  he  expected  and  intended  to  make  her 


176  STEADFAST. 

feel  that  she  had  lost  a  valuable  prize ;  to  awaken 
her  deep  regret,  perhaps  her  jealousy;  so  he  was* 
fluent  and  graphic  in  his  description  of  the  city  gaye- 
ties  he  had  left  to  spend  Christraastide  with  his  rela 
tions.  He  filled  Madam  Stanley's  delighted  ear  with 
accounts  of  the  routs,  the  assemblies,  the  sledging 
parties,  and  the  skating  frolics  of  the  wintry  season 
just  began ;  he  described  the  beauties  who  ruled  soci 
ety,  with  evident  appreciation  and  admiration,  dwell 
ing  warmly  on  the  charms  of  a  certain  French  damsel 
a  reigning  belle  in  New  York,  who  was  by  his  own 
description  as  precisely  opposite  Sybil  as  was  possi 
ble. 

Petite,  brunette,  coquette ;  sparkling  with  wit ; 
dressed  with  parisian  grace  and  taste ;  dancing  like  a 
fairy  and  singing  like  an  angel ;  Madam  Stanley  was 
convinced  that  all  these  charms  had  chained  Colonel 
Stonebridge  to  the  car  of  Mademoiselle  Liotard;  but 
the  good  manners  and  dignity  of  that  day  forbade 
any  allusion  to  such  a  personal  matter  ;  so  the  good 
lady's  thoughts  were  kept  in  her  own  bosom,  but  cer 
tainly  John  Stonebridge  did  his  eloquent  best  to 
convey  the  idea  to  both  of  his  hearers,  that  he  was  a 
willing  victim  to  Mademoiselle's  irresistible  graces. 
But  Sybil  heard  as  one  who  did  not  hear ;  sitting  up 
right  in  a  high  chair,  Avhose  heavy  carvings  of  old 
mahogany  threw  her  head  and  shoulders  into  beauti 
ful  relief,  her  wistful,  lonely  eyes  sought  rest  in  the 
world  outside ;  she  seemed  to  be  present  in  the  body, 
but  far,  far  away  in  soul ;  with  a  slight  start,  a  faint 


AGAIN.  177 

smile,  she  recalled  herself  if  she  were  addressed  ;  but 
the  glowing  pictures  of  city  life  and  pleasure  did  not 
interest  her ;  evidently,  the  pique  and  jealousy  John 
Stonebridge  hoped  to  arouse  had  no  place  in  that  pure 
soul ;  it  was  only  saddened  by  a  deepening  conscious 
ness  that  his  life  and  hers  were  more  widely  separ 
ated  than  ever,  that  there  was  no  unison  in  their  aims 
or  opinions,  that  only  her  own  infatuation,  an  emo 
tion  that  still  caused  her  to  thrill  at  his  voice,  to 
shrink  from  his  eye,  to  feel  that  beside  him  she  was 
utterly  blessed,  and  to  resist  with  all  her  strength,  as 
a  mortal  sin,  the  instinctive  worship  her  whole  soul 
longed  to  offer  him,  bound  her  to  him  with  a  tie  that 
must  be  broken,  if  at  the  cost  of  her  life.  For  Sybil, 
innocent,  young,  and  pure,  could  not  see  the  hot  pas 
sion  that  burned  under  all  this  talk  of  society  and  its 
leaders,  hidden  by  this  fluent  speech  of  pomps  and 
vanities ;  she  did  not  know  that  the  red  glow  in  John 
Stonebridge's  eye  was  the  light  of  a  fire  that  burned 
more  fiercely  than  ever  within  him ;  never  had  he 
loved  Sybil  as  he  loved  her  to-day ;  to  preserve  the 
decent  aspect  of  society,  to  carry  out  his  plan  of  siege, 
he  had  to  crush  down  with  iron  will  the  longing  he 
had  to  clasp  that  delicate,  exquisite  creature  in  his 
arms  and  carry  her  away  from  the  Puritanic  world 
about  her,  to  some  far  country  where  she  would  be 
all  his  own  ;  yet  never  had  he  felt  before  as  strongly 
that  there  was  a  barrier  between  them,  slight  but  re 
lentless  as  a  thin  sheet  of  adamant,  through  which  he 
might  gaze  and  despair,  but  which  he  could  never  break. 


178  STEADFAST. 

All  unaware,  Sybil  was  gradually  impressing  on 
her  lover  the  fact  that  there  was  existent  in  her  soul 
a  vital  and  powerful  principle  of  right,  of  duty,  which 
he  had  never  either  believed  in  or  accepted  ;  he  knew 
she  loved  him,  he  saw  that  fact  written  in  fatal  char 
acters  on  fading  cheek  and  sorrow-darkened  eye ;  he 
knew  it  was  her  pining  heart,  her  thwarted  passion, 
that  had  worked  its  destruction  on  the  fair  flesh  as 
well  as  the  tortured  spirit;  and  he  could  not  but 
recognize  that  there  was  something  more  powerful 
than  the  master  passion  of  humanity  that  could  so 
defend  and  protect  her  from  its  strong  assault ;  he 
understood  at  last,  that  there  is  a  divine  strength  at 
the  command  of  human  devotion,  which  is  mighty  to 
save,  even  when  the  salvation  itself  is  so  as  by  fire. 
He  said  farewell  with  an  echo  in  his  voice  that  stung 
Sybil  as  if  the  adieu  had  been  for  eternity,  but  only  a 
keen  flash  of  anguish  in  her  eye  told  that  she  felt 
that  tone  of  despair ;  and  as  he  strode  away  from  the 
house  with  his  wide  hat  slouched  over  his  face  as  far 
as  might  be,  a  certain  awe  stole  over  that  wild,  bold 
spirit,  a  sense  of  some  loftier  Power  in  life  than  he 
had  hitherto  reckoned  with,  a  consciousness,  that  like 
Saul  of  old,  it  was  hard  for  him  to  "  kick  against  the 
pricks  " ;  not  a  feeling  of  submission,  but  of  resistance 
and  defiance,  that  followed  him  for  many  a  weary 
day ;  but  then  Sybil's  prayers  followed  him  also, 
though  he  knew  it  not,  and  so  entertained  angels  un 
awares. 

Madam    Stanley    had    heard"  and  rioted  all 'that 


AGAIN.  179 

Colonel  Stonebridge  had  said,  but  she  had  not  re 
marked  Sybil's  abstraction ;  it  was  the  custom  of  the 
time  for  young  people  to  be  silent  before  their  elders  ; 
for  young  maids  to  be  shy  and  modest  in  the  presence 
of  gentlemen,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  the  girls  of 
to-day ;  and  Madam  Stanley  thought  nothing  of  her 
niece's  speechlessness.  She  herself  broke  the  silence 
first  after  the  guest's  departure. 

"  So  it  seemeth  Philip  Kent  will  not  be  among  us 
this  winter ;  I  suppose  his  wife  is  little  of  a  house 
wife  ;  but  it  is  not  seemly  to  my  mind  that  a  married 
woman  should  gad  abroad  and  be  so  gay  as  John 
Stonebridge  telleth." 

"  I  suppose^  it  was  her  wont,  before,"  said  Sybil, 
gently. 

"  Then  it  should  cease  to  be  her  wont  now.  Philip 
would  do  well  not  to  waste  his  substance  in  riotous 
living,  but  come  back  to  his  own  good  house  here,  and 
teach  his  wife  thrift  and  godly  living." 

Sybil  smiled ;  she  had  seen  Annetje  Stuyvesant  in 
Albany,  and  understood  how  far  from  that  selfish 
nature  were  either  thrift  or  godliness  ;  but  her  face 
saddened  again  as  her  aunt  went  on. 

"It  seems  they  will  make  a  country  mansion  of 
Joshua  Dyer's  house,  and  spend  their  winters  in  the 
city  ;  so  I  suppose  we  may  look  for  finery  and  fashion 
to  alight  in  our  quiet  neighborhood  when  the  warm 
weather  is  come." 

Sybil  thought  of  Esther,  and  the  cruel  trial  it  would 
be  to  her  to  meet  Philip  and  his  wife,  to  see  their 


180  STEADFAST. 

happiness,  to  watch  the  home,  the  heart,  the  life  that 
should  have  been  hers,  all  lavished  on  another.  How 
could  she  serve  or  save  her  hapless  friend  ?  Like 
one  of  old  she  gave  herself  unto  prayer,  and  prayer 
for  Esther. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

REWARD. 
The  mills  of  the  gods  grind  slowly. 

IT  is  not  always  that  evil  deeds  receive  their  pun 
ishment  in  this  world,  but  doubtless  they  often  do 
receive  it  in  a  way  invisible  to  men.  Esther's  pun 
ishment  was  in  her  own  soul,  and  day  by  day  it 
seemed  to  burn  in  upon  her  more  deeply.  If  she 
could  have  confided  or  confessed  her  sin,  it  would 
have  been  less  a  burden  ;  but  to  do  that  would  in 
volve  Philip  and  blast  his  character,  for  she  was  not 
subtle  enough  to  imagine  a  way  to  blame  herself  and 
exonerate  him.  So  she  went  about  feeling  that  she 
was  branded,  though  the  brand  was  unseen  of  man; 
that  she  was  a  hypocrite  and  could  not  confess  her 
hypocrisy,  deeply  as  she  repented  it ;  this  introspec 
tion  might  have  turned  her  brain  and  ended  her  short 
record  in  a  madhouse,  but  for  the  daily  tender  allevi 
ation  of  her  thoughts  in  teaching  and  petting  her 
school  children,  and  the  growing  affection  with  which 
she  regarded  Aunt  Tempy ;  a  woman  gifted  with  that 
keen  sense  of  humor  and  indomitable  hopefulness 
that  now  and  then  springs  up  amid  the  stern  gloom 
or  the  superhuman  piety  of  New  England  records, 
like  the  cheerful  and  persistent  glow  of  the  "  butter 
fly  weed  "  on  our  sandy  hillsides  ;  a  blossom  gay  not 

181 


182  STEADFAST. 

only  with  its  own  deep  orange  tint,  the  concentrated 
color  of  a  hot  sunset,  but  always  alive  and  glad  with 
the  host  of  winged  adorers  its  beauty  and  honey 
attract.  Her  odd  ways,  her  quaint  speech  and 
thought,  her  interminable  fund  of  apt  proverbs  and 
queer  stories,  amused  and  interested  Esther,  who 
inherited  no  small  share  of  humorous  perception 
from  her  father,  and  often  beguiled  her  from  the 
despairing  consciousness  of  her  own  moral  condition, 
as  she  considered  it  from  her  morbid  point  of  view. 

Philip  was  troubled  with  no  such  inward  distress  ; 
he  was  too  selfish  and  too  fond  of  his  own  ease,  to  let 
his  mind  revert  to  any  unpleasantness  :  what  was 
done  was  ended,  for  him ;  he  did  not  concern  himself 
about  the  will;  that,  as  he  viewed  it,  was  a  mere 
matter  of  justice,  and  as  for  his  love-making  to 
Esther,  what  man  of  his  type  ever  gave  a  remorseful 
thought  to  a  mere  amusement  of  that  kind. 

Indeed,  are  there  many  men  of  any  type  who  think 
it  harm  to  say  sweet  words  and  offer  tender  caresses 
to  any  girl  who  is  willing  to  hear  and  receive  them  ? 
I  leave  the  answer  to  the  experience  of  those  who 
have  been  attractive  girls,  and  the  observation  of 
those  who  have  not.. 

But  Philip's  judgment  came  upon  him,  neverthe 
less,  in  a  more  open  fashion.  Annetje  Stuyvesant's 
great  charm  to  him  had  been  her  difficult,  inaccessi 
ble  manner ;  accustomed  to  see  and  conquer,  Philip 
was  not  a  little  weary  of  conquests  which  were  too 
easy  to  be  exciting  or  interesting.  He  had  not  a 


REWARD.  183 

mind  capable  of  analyzing  character,  a  perception 
quick  enough  to  understand  it  instinctively.  He 
found  in  the  revelation  of  personal  traits  that  the 
solitude  a  deux  of  marriage  inevitably  brings,  that 
Annetje's  coolness  and  pride  were  owing  to  a  curious 
mixture  of.  traits  :  a  cold  heart ;  a  physical  nature, 
self-indulgent  and  luxurious  even  to  the  verge  of 
becoming  sensual;  an  impertinent  consciousness  of 
being  better  than  her  neighbors ;  an  indomitable  will ; 
and  a  prevalent  intention  of  being  the  one  person  in 
the  household  to  whom  all  its  members  should  be 
devoted.  Natural  wit  she  had ;  a  clear  head,  and  a 
vivacious  brain;  as  a  man  she  would  have  been  a 
little  superior  to  Philip  Kent,  because  she  was  quicker- 
witted,  otherwise,  the  bent  of  their  natures  was  alike ; 
and  their  marriage  became  from  its  earliest  days  an 
individual  conflict.  And  a  conflict  it  was  in  which, 
naturally,  the  woman  came  off  with  flying  colors; 
she  stung  Philip's  self-complacency  with  sarcasms 
which  made  him  wince,  but  which  he  could  neither 
evade,  ignore,  or  return  in  kind ;  and  if  he  showed 
the  hard  side  of  his  character,  was  unfeeling,  inatten 
tive,  careless,  her  fierce  temper  broke  out  in  a  torrent 
of  words,  or  she  went  into  hysterics,  a  form  of  demon 
stration  peculiarly  unpleasant  and  subduing  to  a  man 
who  was  not  accustomed  to  that  sort  of  thing.  Or 
sometimes  she  lavished  on  him  caresses  that  were 
like  the  caresses  of  a  tigress,  fierce  and' passionate, 
thrilling  with  the  consciousness  of  talons  beneath  the 
velvet. 


184  STEADFAST. 

This  sort  of  life  was  not  agreeable  to  Philip  Kent. 
He  did  not  enjoy  the  doubt,  after  a  time  darkening 
into  the  dread,  that  assailed  him  whenever  he  went 
home  from  his  business,  as  to  whether  he  should  find 
a  sulky,  an  angry,  or  a  shrieking  and  laughing  wife. 

That  she  sometimes  shone  on  him  like  an  appeased 
goddess,  and  clung  to  him  like  a  really  loving  woman, 
did  not  atone  to  him  for  the  general  storm  that 
clouded  his  days :  he  wanted  to  enjoy  life,  to  have 
an  abundance  of  this  world's  goods,  to  eat,  drink,  and 
be  merry  ;  and  he  was  not  only  angered  and  dis 
tressed,  but  cowed  and  disheartened  by  this  continu 
ous  disturbance.  And,  beside,  his  strong  self-love  and 
self-conceit  were  wounded  to  the  quick  to  discover  that 
he  could  not  mould  this  woman,  who  was  his  wife, 
into  the  sort  of  person  he  would  have  her ;  she  re 
sented  his  educational  experiments,  laughed  at  his 
theories,  and  remained  Annetje  Stuyvesant  in  spite 
of  being  Mrs.  Philip  Kent. 

It  is  only  an  inert  or  a  weak  woman,  or,  in  rare 
cases,  a  very  tender,  selfless,  and  devoted  nature,  that 
a  man  can  shape  in  his  own  fashion  ;  and  generally 
he  becomes  very  tired  of  such  a  wax  puppet,  but 
Annetje  was  less  "married  than  most  women;  she 
had  her  will  and  her  way,  and  Philip  might  make  the 
best  —  or  the  worst  —  of  it. 

Esther  had  her  revenge,  though  she  never  knew  it, 
in  the  repeated  hours  when  Philip  recalled  her  devo 
tion,  her  ever-ready  sympathy,  her  readiness  to  lay 
down  her  very  life  for  him  ;  her  sweet,  worshipping 


REWARD.  185 

eyes ;  her  soul-lit  face,  that  grew  bright  or  dark  with 
his ;  her  evident  admiration  for  and  pride  in  him. 

Woe  to  the  woman  who  feels  above  her  husband  in 
the  slightest  respect  —  if  she  lets  him  know  it !  From 
that  hour  he  is  averted  from  her,  he  resents  the  tie 
between  them,  he  is  injured  and  unrelenting.  To 
wound  a  man's  self-love  is  to  kill  all  his  other  love 
forever.  It  is  true  that  Philip  was  still  outwardly 
devoted  to  his  wife ;  he  waited  on  her  wants,  watched 
over  her  intimations,  guarded  her  from  all  the  ills  and 
inconveniences  of  life,  and  was  remarked  on  as  the 
most  patient  and  thoughtful  of  husbands,  —  because 
he  well  knew  that  in  this  way  only  could  he  hope  for, 
or  expect  peace  in  his  own  house,  and  beyond  any 
thing  else  he  desired  quiet,  if  pleasure  were  denied 
him. 

But  in  the  first  two  years  of  his  marriage,  he  was 
more  than  once  driven  to 'the  conscious  acknowledg 
ment  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  that  Annetje  was 
not  the  woman  he  ought  to  have  married. 

He  would  have  liked  to  solace  himself  with  the 
society  of  other  women,  for  he  was  one  of  those  men 
who  enjoy  the  companionship  of  women  more  than 
that  of  men.  The  conversation  and  fellowship  of 
average  men  jarred  on  him,  because  they  did  not 
acknowledge  his  superiority.  He  avoided  those  con 
claves  on  the  tavern  "  stoeps  "  in  summer,  or  in  the 
sanded  bar-room,  where  the  heaped  logs  and  the  high 
settles  attracted  other  loungers ;  where  the  harsh 
cackle  of  the  politician's  strident  laugh,  or  the  more 


186  STEADFAST. 

disgusting  chuckle  of  the  low  storyteller  timed  the 
chorus  of  applauding  listeners;  he  better  liked  to 
pose  at  the  suppers  of  his  numerous  acquaintance  as 
a  devotee  of  women  in  a  lofty  fashion.  Dear  to  him 
were  the  pathetic  little  confidences  made  to  gentle 
souls  about  his  low  spirits,  his  failing  health,  or 
sundry  griefs  without  a  name;  dear  the  pressure 
soft  white  hands  allowed,  the  blush  of  sympathy, 
the  eyes  gleaming  with  pitiful  interest,  the  tender 
voice  of  consolation  and  cheer.  He  knew  that  now 
he  could  go  no  further  than  these  permissible  in 
dulgences,  being  a  married  man;  that  the  kisses 
and  embraces  he  had  so  often  stolen  in  moonlight 
walks,  or  sleighrides,  where  the  temptation  was  so 
near,  could  no  longer  be  allowed  him;  but  he  soon 
found  out  that  Annetje,  for  all  her  coldness,  was  as 
jealous  as  a  woman  could  be ;  not  because  she  loved 
him,  but  because  she  so  loved  herself. 

It  pleased  him  that  she  refused  to  return  to  Trum- 
bull,  not  only  for  that  next  summer,  but  for  nearly 
two  years ;  he  feared  lest  her  wrath  should  light  on 
Esther,  with  whom  he  fully  expected  not  only  to  be 
on  friendly  terms,  but  to  whom  he  meant  to  turn  for 
comfort.  He  calculated  acutely  on  those  stringent 
customs  of  propriety,  no  less  cultivated  in  those  days 
in  the  country  than  in  the  town,  which  should  bring 
Esther  to  his  house,  as  at  least  a  ceremonious  visitor ; 
and  no  less  keenly  he  built  upon  her  past  devotion 
and  her  faithful  nature  as  a  guarantee  that  she  would 
be  ready  to  forgive  and  comfort  him ;  so  that  he  really 


REWARD.  187 

longed  to  go  back  to  Trumbull.  During  that  first 
summer,  after  Esther  began  her  school,  he  visited  his 
old  home  once,  on  pretext  of  seeing  to  his  business 
there,  but  he  did  not  meet  her.  Delia  still  lived  in 
the  house,  having  fetched  her  old  mother  to  keep  her 
company ;  and  Hiram,  lodging  elsewhere,  attended  to 
the  garden,  the  horses,  and  the  cow.  It  was  an  ex 
pensive  business,  this  keeping  up  the  old  homestead ; 
but  Uncle  Dyer,  with  the  desire  common  to  all  men 
to  carry  out  their  will  or  wish  after  they  are  gone 
from  the  possibility  of  enjoying  either  wish  or  will, 
had  made  it  an  imperative  condition  with  his  heir 
that  this  place  should  be  kept  in  order  as  long  as 
Philip  lived.  He  had  the  same  feeling  about  his 
house  that  some  men  have  about  their  places  of 
burial,  —  a  desire  that  it  should  not  lapse  into  neglect 
and  decay ;  but  then  it  was  not  considered  decent  to 
allow  the  graves  of  kindred  to  be  run  over  with  weeds 
and  briers  ;  to  openly  leave  their  memorials  in  a  state 
of  disrespect  and  disorder.  He  needed  no  clause  in 
his  will  to  provide  for  such  a  contingency ;  but  pin 
ing,  as  we  all  do,  not  to  be  utterly  forgotten,  entirely 
blotted  out  as  one  who  had  not  been,  who  "  had  given 
up  the  ghost  and  no  eye  had  seen  "  him,  he  left  orders 
in  detail  concerning  his  mansion  and  premises  which 
Philip  could  not  evade. 

Sybil  Saltonstall,  after  the  Christmas  visit  which 
Colonel  Stonebridge  made  her,  saw  him  no  more  for 
many  months.  She  shut  up  her  sorrow  in  her  heart, 
and  grew  still  more  sweet  and  saint-like  ;  indeed,  her 


188  STEADFAST. 

Aunt  Stanley's  house  and  society  were  good  training 
for  a  saint;  but  Sybil  had  no  other  home,  and  the 
customs  of  the  day  forbade  her  travelling  about  by 
herself,  as  independent  young  women  do  to-day.  She 
also  had  a  sense  of  duty  toward  her  uncle  and  aunt, 
as  standing  in  the  place  of  her  parents,  that  it  would 
be  difficult  to  explain  to  the  girl  of  this  period. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  her  that  her  beloved  Esther 
was  to  be  spared  the  trial  of  having  Philip  at  hand 
the  next  summer,  and  she  hastened  to  let  her  know, 
in  an  incidental  way,  that  he  had  lately  written  as 
much  to  her  Uncle  Stanley.  As  for  Sybil  herself,  as 
long  as  Governor  Stanley  was  absent  so  often  on  the 
business  of  the  Colony,  she  was  glad  to  have  it  need 
ful  for  her  to  be  at  home  on  her  aunt's  account.  She 
had  friends  in  New  York  and  Albany  both,  who  would 
gladly  have  had  her  spend  the  winter  and  spring 
months  with  them,  but  she  excused  herself  on  the 
plea  that  she  must  not  leave  Madam  Stanley  alone, 
rejoicing  that  she  had  this  valid  reason  for  escaping 
any  possibility  of  meeting  John  Stonebridge  again ; 
for  Sybil  looked  upon  their  separation  as  final  and 
eternal,  and  to  see  his  face  and  hear  his  voice,  was 
only  a  renewal  of  her  burnt-sacrifice,  and  a  fresh 
martyrdom. 

So  a  year  and  a  half  rolled  over  the  heads  of  these 
dwellers  in  a  quiet  New  England  village,  with  as  little 
chance  or  change  as  life  ever  brings ;  the  elements  of 
woe  and  wrath  and  tempest  were  all  there,  but  they 
slept.  Esther  went  on  her  way  successfully;  her 


REWARD.  189 

little  pupils  adored  her ;  and  if  her  experience  corro 
borated  her  well-taught  creed  of  "  original  sin,"  in  the 
naughty  tricks  of  little  cherubs  who  looked  all  milk 
and  roses,  but  were  as  sly,  as  mischievous,  and  as 
thorough  little  spitfires  as  kittens,  and  seemed  to 
revel  in  "  actual  transgression " ;  still  her  belief  in 
"  total  depravity,"  was  something  shaken,  for  she 
found  them,  even  the  worst  of  them,  so  easy  to  be 
coaxed  into  repentance,  so  wistful  and  woful  after 
the  ordained  spankings,  so  ready  with  verbal  contri 
tion  at  least,  that  she  laid  their  continuous  backslid- 
ings  to  the  door  of  their  brief  baby  memories,  and 
kept  forgiving  the  small  sinners,  till  they  were  half 
ashamed  to  sin.  Miss  Tempy  kept  the  small  house 
in  exquisite  order,  and  fed  Esther  on  the  most  savory 
if  not  the  most  luxurious  food ;  "  the  tricks  and  the 
manners  "  of  modern  or  French  cookery,  were  all  un 
known  to  this  thrifty  spinster,  but  her  rye  and  wheat 
bread  were  perfect  in  their  way ;  her  pies  crisp  of 
crust  and  absolutely  well-flavored;  her  "election 
cake  "  sought  for  far  and  near  when  the  housewives 
about  were  straitened  for  help  or  expected  company ; 
though  then  it  wore  only  the  style  of  "raised  cake," 
Election  Day  being  a  festival  of  the  future.  Nobody 
made  such  "  sweetmeats "  as  Aunt  Tempy ;  such 
pound-for-pound  peaches,  in  syrup  thick  and  golden 
like  clover  honey ;  such  quart  tumblers  of  red  quince 
slices  ;  such  wine-colored  currant-jelly,  that  cut  like  a 
solid ;  such  great  egg-plums,  like  spheres  of  clouded 
amber;  or  such  damson  cheese.  Meat  was  not  her 


190 


STEADFAST. 


forte ;  she  did,  I  grieve  to  say  it,  fry  her  beefsteaks, 
but  then  she  could  roast  a  chicken  to  perfection,  and 
her  Thanksgiving  pig  would  have  made  Charles  Lamb 
cry  for  joy,  so  round,  so  crisp,  so  succulent  was  the 
porcine  baby,  untimely  slain  to  celebrate  what  is  now 
"  a  nation's  holiday."  And  as  for  vegetables  !  —  "  I'm 
dreadful  fond  of  green  sass,"  Aunt  Tempy  candidly 
avowed.  "  Meat  vittles  I  do  not  really  set  by  a  great 
deal ;  but  now  as  for  'sparagrass  in  the  season  on't,  I 
never  pitied  Nebuchadnezzar  no  great  if  that  was  the 
kind  o'  grass  he  lived  on  ;  and  beans,  why  beans  is 
good  all  the  year  round,  biled  or  baked,  and  they're 
so  fillin'  !  Then  peas,  good  green  or  for  porridge, 
' pease  porridge  hot,'  that  is  the  porridge  I'm  give  to; 
and  corn,  I  wouldn't  ask  nothing  better  for  dinner 
than  roasted  corn  with  a  leetle  mite  of  sweet  butter 
and  salt  on  to  't ;  and  succotash  is  fit  to  set  before 
the  king,  now  I  tell  ye.  Cabbage  ?  well  cabbage  will 
smell ;  I  lay  that  up  ag'inst  it ;  and  you  can't  drive 
nor  coax  the  smell  on't  out  of  the  house  noway. 
Onions  is  good,  proper  good,  and  dreadful  hullsome ; 
more  so  than  what  cabbage  is ;  I've  got  to  forgive 
their  sin  of  smellin'  on  that  account.  Why  raw 
onions  with  a  mess  of  pepper  'n  vinegar  on  'em  is  a 
most  amazing  purifyin'  to  the  blood  in  springtime ; 
them  and  dandelion  greens  is  better  'n  a  doctor,  or 
'Lixir  Pro.  I  declare  if  we  could  have  green  things 
the  year  round,  I  shouldn't  care  if  I  never  saw  a  bit 
of  meat  vittles,  exceptin'  a  mite  of  salt  pork,  any 
more.  But  mercy  me  !  there's  nothin'  but  potatoes 


REWARD. 


191 


and  parsnips  eight  months  in  the  year  that  is  green, 
and  they  ain't,  really." 

So  the  days  and  months  went  on,  and  the  second 
summer  coming  in,  brought  back,  not  only  Philip 
Kent,  his  wife,  his  infant  son,  but  also  John  Stone- 
bridge,  who  had  all  the  past  year  been  troubled  with 
rheumatism,  and  had  now  obtained  a  long  leave  of 
absence  to  rest  and  recruit,  and  was  coming  to  the 
Talcotts  for  the  summer. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

GRIST. 
But  they  grind  exceeding  small. 

As  Philip  Kent  had  expected,  Esther  knew  that 
she  must  pay  a  ceremonial  visit  to  his  wife,  or  the 
village  gossips  would  set  all  their  tongues  wagging 
with  guesses  at  a  truth  nothing  would  tempt  her  to 
have  revealed;  like  many  another  woman  she  had 
hidden  her  head  and  thought,  as  does  the  proverbial 
ostrich,  that  she  was  altogether  out  of  sight,  not  at 
all  aware  that  Philip's  devotion  and  desertion  were 
as  patent  to  the  eyes  of  the  townspeople  as  to  hers. 
Yet  instinctively  she  was  right  in  doing  as  she  did ; 
for  the  women  who  pitied  her  now  would  have  de 
spised  her  had  she  shown  so  little  pride  and  self-con 
trol  as  to  resent  her  wrongs  openly.  She  did  not 
even  ask  Sybil  to  go  with  her,  she  preferred  to  be 
alone  when  she  should  meet  the  new-comers. 

Mrs.  Kent  kept  her  waiting  some  time ;  happily 
for  Esther  she  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room,  an 
apartment  that  held  for  her  no  especially  painful 
associations  ;  and  it  was  not  Hannah  who  opened  the 
door  at  her  knock,  but  a  serving-man  whom  Philip 
had  fetched  up  from  his  New  York  house  to  please 
Annetje. 

When  Mrs.  Kent  did  enter  she  was  not  cordial  but 
192 


GRIST.  193 

courteous ;  nothing  in  her  look  or  manner  touched 
Esther's  heart ;  the  delicate,  haughty  face  was  a  little 
worn,  more  with  ennui  than  illness,  and  her  languid, 
indifferent  manner  seemed  to  be  rather  natural  than 
affected. 

Esther  was  simple  and  civil ;  she  put  on  nothing 
that  she  did  not  feel ;  asked  after  Philip,  and  heard 
he  had  gone  to  the  Long  Beach  Farm,  and,  giving 
thanks  inwardly  that  she  was  not  to  meet  him,  man 
aged  to  keep  up  a  slow  conversation  through  the 
decent  amount  of  time  allotted  for  a  call ;  and  went 
away,  encountering  Sybil  and  Madam  Stanley  at  the 
door  as  they  came  in.  Sybil  looked  earnestly  at  her 
friend ;  she  saw  the  tranquil  face  and  was  glad ;  had 
she  seen  it  ten  minutes  afterward,  pity  and  distress 
would  have  darkened  all  her  soul,  for  just  as  Esther 
neared  the  gate  of  her  home,  Philip,  in  the  old  chaise, 
came  up  the  road  and  stopped  to  speak  to  her.  Poor 
Esther !  She  had  felt  so  sure,  so  safe ;  she  had  seen 
this  man  in  his  absence  as  he  was,  not  as  her  passion 
and  imagination  had  endowed  him  with  heavenly 
gifts ;  but  now,  here,  the  eyes  that  had  drawn  her 
soul  out  into  his  soul,  the  lips  that  had  pressed  hers 
so  often,  once  more  looking  and  smiling  at  her,  for 
Philip  drew  up  to  speak  as  he  passed,  Esther  knew 
that  she  loved  Philip  Kent  still;  shameful,  sinful, 
horrid,  as  the  past  was,  the  wild  tremors  of  her  heart, 
the  quick  flush  of  delight,  the  forgetfulness  of  all 
the  past,  smote  her  like  a  flash  of  blinding  light ;  she 
loved  him!  oh,  yes,  God  help  her!  she  loved  this 


194  STEADFAST. 

man  yet,  and  another  woman  was  his  wife.  Philip 
saw  her  agitation ;  she  could  not  conceal  the  sudden 
pallor  and  the  equally  sudden  rose-red  blush  that  lit 
her  beautiful  face ;  she  could  not  master  the  tremu 
lous  pathos  in  her  voice,  or  darken  the  light  that  illu 
minated  the  mournful  dusk  of  her  great  eyes ;  he  was 
himself  a  little  moved,  and  a  little  flattered;  if 
Annetje  had  wounded  his  self-love  to  the  quick, 
Esther  healed  it.  She  had  grown  far  more  lovely 
since  Philip  had  seen  her ;  her  figure  was  stately  and 
graceful,  her  taste  modelled  her  dress  as  far  as  the 
stiff  fashions  of  the  day  allowed ;  in  her  gown  and 
petticoat  of  deep  green  paduasoy,  with  frills  of  qulaint 
old  English  thread  lace  ;  a  little  white  chip  hat  pinned 
on  the  high  puffs  of  hair  whose  powdered  rolls  gave  a 
singular  charm  to  her  glowing  face  and  clear  brunette 
skin,  with  cheeks  that  rivalled  the  garland  of  roses 
on  her  hat,  Esther  was  indeed  a  beauty  to  have 
alarmed  Annetje,  who  had  only  seen  her  quiet,  color 
less,  and  wearing  a  frigid  conventional  expression  as 
became  a  formal  visitor.  Philip  said  little  beyond 
the  ordinary  greetings,  but  his  face  spoke ;  his  deep, 
gray  eyes  melted  and  glowed,  his  smile  beamed  on 
her  with  the  old  power  and  sweetness,  she  felt  the 
divine  madness  of  that  dismaying  emotion  that  before 
rioted  in  her  brain  possess  and  envelop  her  once 
more  ;  and  with  a  wrench  of  resolution  escaped  from 
his  sight,  and  rushing  up  to  her  tiny  bedroom,  threw 
herself  down  on  the  bed,  hid  her  face,  and  burst  into 
a  passion  of  tears. 


GRIST.  195 

I  wish  Esther  had  been  a  stronger  woman,  but  I 
must  paint  her  as  she  was,  with  a  heart  greater  than 
her  brain,  an  impulsive,  undisciplined  character,  a 
creature  who  in  the  very  nature  of  things  could  not 
escape  wreck,  and  loss,  and  woe,  if  left  to  her  own 
guidance  ;  a  girl  to  whom  love  was  life  and  breath, 
but  who  loved  as  unwisely  as  such  girls  almost  inva 
riably  do. 

Not  at  first  were  her  tears  all  bitterness,  but  rather 
a  relief  to  her  emotion;  when  she  had  thoroughly 
given  way  to  them,  a  certain  calm  stole  over  her ;  she 
began  to  think  of  Philip  instead  of  herself.  Unself 
ishness  is  a  good  thing  if  it  is  not  extravagant. 
When  the  Lord  commanded  us  to  love  our  neighbors 
as  ourselves,  He  did  not  say  more  than  ourselves,  but 
made  the  measure  of  our  neighborly  affection  and  ser 
vice  the  due  self-love  and  self-respect  which  is  every 
man's  and  woman's  law  of  moral  self-preservation. 
The  mad  passion  that  gives  up  life,  character,  honor, 
even  decency  for  the  sake  of  a  beloved  object,  not 
only  wrecks  itself,  but  ministers  to  the  shame  and 
harm  of  that  object. 

It  was  well  for  Esther  in  that  time,  unguarded  by 
a  deep  religious  faith,  the  reserve  and  sanctity  of  a 
true  home,  and  the  tender  omniscience  of  motherly 
love,  that  Annetje  Kent  was  a  resolute  and  jealous 
woman,  whom  Philip  feared  ;  and  that  Esther's  daily 
life  was  among  the  innocent  little  children  whose 
pure  lips  and  clear  eyes  shamed  her  when  she  con 
sidered  —  as  now  and  then  she  did  —  her  own  position. 


196  STEADFAST. 

Not  in  this  fashion  did  Sybil  Saltonstall  suffer; 
she  had  a  refuge  and  a  strength  unknown  to  Esther ; 
it  wrung  her  heart  to  encounter  John  Stonebridge  as 
she  was  obliged  to,  often,  since  he  had  come  to  the 
Talcott  mansion,  but  she  held  her  soul  far  above  in  a 
diviner  ether  than  the  mists  and  clouds  of  earth ;  suf 
fering  drove  her  to  prayer,  and  earth  to  heaven  ;  day 
after  day  her  face  seemed  to  refine  and  sweeten,  she 
grew  lovelier  in  every  word  and  deed ;  yet  she  had 
lonely  hours  of  agonies  when  she  felt  sure,  not  being 
an  Agnostic,  that  Satan  tempted  her  to  fall  from  her 
sad  sanctity  and  taste  the  blisses  of  human  love,  the 
peace  of  a  mortal  home,  the  strength  and  guidance  of 
a  man's  heart  and  hand ;  in  those  hours  she  asked  her 
self  —  or  an  evil  spirit  put  the  question  —  why  she 
needed  to  set  aside  the  blessings  made  for  a  woman, 
and  endure  this  gnawing  self-denial,  simply  because 
her  opinions  differed  from  John  Stonebridge's  ?  Why, 
again,  might  it  not  be  her  actual  duty  to  marry  him 
and  bring  him  by  her  example  and  her  prayers  to  such 
a  respect  and  love  for  religion,  that  he  should  enter 
its  service  ?  These  terrible  hours  of  casuistic  ques 
tion  invariably  followed  a  meeting  with  her  lover, 
though  it  might  even  be  a  silent  one  ;  a  little  reflec 
tion  on  her  part  would  have  relegated  the  queries  to 
Colonel  Stonebridge's  reproachful  gaze,  the  dark  pas 
sion  of  his  melancholy  eyes,  rather  than  to  the  wan 
derer  and  devourer  of  men ;  but  Sybil  chose  to  refer 
all  evil  to  its  powerful  source  instead  of  his  instru 
ments  ;  she  could  not  invest  her  handsome,  courteous 


GRIST.  197 

lover  with  the  traditional  exterior  of  Satan,  or  ascribe 
to  him  the  taunting  and  sneering  suggestions  that 
vexed  her  pure  and  tender  soul,  and  tried  the  strength 
of  her  womanly  courage. 

To  her,  as  to  Esther,  this  beautiful  and  beauteous 
summer  was  a  long  torture  ;  to  Esther  rather  a  tumult 
than  a  trial,  for  Philip  made  pretexts  to  see  her,  and 
used  all  his  arts  to  awaken  her  sympathy  for  him 
that  he  might  again  gather  her  sweet  consolations 
and  condolings.  It  is  true,  he  led  a  very  uncomfort 
able  life ;  Delia  felt  it  for  and  with  him.  June  was 
not  yet  over,  the  old  white  roses  with  saffron  hearts 
that  clambered  even  to  Esther's  window-sill,  had  still 
a  few  exquisite  half-blown  buds  on  the  tips  of  their 
long  slight  branches,  when  one  fine  day,  after  school, 
Delia  walked  up  the  little  gravel  path  and  tapped  at 
the  schoolroom  door,  Esther  opened  it. 

"  Why,  Delia ! "  she  said.  "  How  glad  I  am  to  see 
you.  It  is  a  long  day  since  you  came  over  my  door- 
sill." 

"  I  know  it ! "  panted  Delia,  sinking  into  the  arm 
chair,  and  fanning  her  heated  face  with  a  bandana 
handkerchief  of  the  most  vivid  yellow.  "  I  couldn't 
noways  help  it,  I've  been  busier'n  a  bee  in  a  tar-barrel 
ever  sence  the  folks  come  home,  and  I'm  clear  done 
over.  I  tell  you  what,  Esther,  I  keep  rec'lectin'  old 
times  the  hull  time.  My  land  !  'twas  like  Paradise  in 
them  days,  — only  I  didn't  sense  it.  The  Squire  goin' 
in  and  out  as  pleasant  as  a  picter,  and  when  you  and 
your  ma  came,  you  was  jest  as  nateral  as  he  was ; 


198  STEADFAST. 

you  was  our  folks  right  away,  and  Philip  wasn't  to 
call  bad ;  he  hectored  some,  and  rid  a  high  horse  by 
times,  but  he  wasn't  nothing  to  complain  of.  But 
now  !  I  tell  you  there's  new  times,  and  I  can't  stan' 
it.  Sech  things  as  she  wants  cooked  up  !  Who  ever 
heerd  tell  of  puttin'  a  reason  and  a  bit  of  citron  into 
the  middle  of  a  riz  nut-cake  before  'twas  fried,  and 
then  callin'  of  it  a  f  oly  kook '  ?  That  ain't  my  kind 
of  cook  !  Then  there's  her  stuff  she  calls  salmagundi ; 
of  all  the  messes !  raw  fish  out  o'  the  river,  chopped 
up  with  green  inions  and  mixed  till  its  slimy  with 
warm  water !  makes  me  spleen  to  think  on't !  —  and 
that's  her  vittles.  Then  in  place  of  real  respectable 
chopped  cabbage,  she  wants  her'n  cut  into  strings  and 
wilted  with  hot  water,  and  dreened,  then  she  puts 
vinegar  on  to't.  I  should  think  them  things  was  fit 
for  swine.  That  ain't  nothin'  though,  folks  has  differ 
ent  notions,  and  one  man's  meat  is  another  man's 
p'ison  as  they  tell ;  but  she  herself  is  worse'n  her  vit 
tles.  Now  I  don't  never  call  myself  stuck  up,  but  I 
was  always  used  well  by  folks  I  lived  with,  and  re 
spected  when  I  done  as  I  had  ought  to  have  did ;  but 
mercy  me  !  she  thinks  hired  help  is  the  dirt  under 
her  feet !  which  I  ain't  nor  ain't  a  goin'  to  be.  An' 
'tain't  me  only  ;  you'd  ought  to  see  her  a  orderin' 
Hiram  round !  Ef  he  was  two  year  old  she  couldn't 
ha'  giv  him  more  talk.  He  didn't  mind  it,  not 
greatly ;  men-folks  will  take  a  sight  from  a  good  look- 
in'  woman,  but  I  don't  feel  to  see  him  rid  over,  hoss 
and  foot,  like  that.  As  for  Philip,  he's  her  little  dog 


GRIST.  199 

Tray ;  he  darsn't  do  nothin'  of  his  own  motion ;  ef  he 
does  she  has  the  highsterics  proper  bad,  and  then  he 
flies  round !  Well,  I  don't  care  such  a  lot  about  him, 
lie  a'n't  nothin'  to  me.  I  arn  my  bread  myself,  and 
he's  made  his  bed,  now  he's  got  to  lie  oii't,  be  it  how 
it's  made,  soft  or  hard ;  but  I  have  giv'  warning,  the 
same  house  can't  hold  her  an'  me  to  the  same  time ; 
I'd  ruther  set  up  in  a  hovil  and  go  a  berryin'  for  my 
livin' ! " 

"  But,  Delia  !  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Now,  don't  ye  smile,  a  mite  !  Fm  a  goin'  to  get 
married." 

"  What !  married  !  " 

"  Well,  I  guess  so."  snapped  Delia ;  "  do  you  think 
I'm  too  humly  to  try  for't  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Delia,  you  know  I  don't !  I  was  so  sorry  for 
poor  Hiram." 

"  I  guess  I  shan't  bile  an'  eat  him,"  retorted  the 
angry  woman. 

"  But  he  will  be  so  hurt  at  your  marriage." 

"I  dono  about  that;  I  guess  he'll  be  resigned," 
and  Delia  laughed;  she  began  to  appreciate  the 
situation. 

"  But  who  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  puzzled  Esther. 

"Well,  now  you're  come  to  the  p'int,  I  shouldn't 
think  strange  if  'twas  reelly,  —  well,  I  guess  it  is  — 
Hiram ! " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Esther,  with  an  accent  of  relief. 

"  You  see,"  promptly  went  on  Delia,  "  I  stood  out 
quite  a  spell  because  he  wasn't  a  professor,  and  I 


200  STEADFAST. 

meant  to  keep  up  my  end  of  the  matter  till  he  was, 
but  I  don't  see  no  signs  on't ;  he's  good,  real  good,  as 
fur  as  bein'  clever  to  put  up  with,  and  havin'  faculty, 
but  I  mistrust  his  speritooal  condition  is  sort  of 
duberous.  Howsoever,  I  ain't  so  young  as  I  was,  nor 
so  sot  in  my  idees  j  I've  kind  of  mellered  down,  and 
this  bein'  what  your  Uncle  Dyer  used  to  call  a  'mer- 
gency,  why  I  thought  'twould  come  amazin'  handy  to 
have  a  man  round  for  good  and  all,  and  he'll  be  clever 
to  mother,  so  I  kind  of  giv  him  a  leetle  hint  ye  know, 
and  my !  he  took  it  as  spry  as  a  robin  takes  a  worm, 
and  the  upshot  of  the  hull  is  we've  took  Hillside 
Farm  of  Philip,  bein'  as  Kobertses  folks  are  niovin' 
out  west  as  fur  as  the  York  settlements,  a  takin' 
up  land  there  for  to  clear  and  plant  back  of  the 
river,  and  Philip  was  lookin'  about  for  tenants.  So 
we  put  in ;  I've  got  quite  a  little  nest-egg,  and  so's 
Hi,  and  we  reckon  we  shall  be  married  next  week, 
and  go  out  to  Hillside,  bag  and  baggage.  I  want  you 
to  come  over  to  the  minister's  house  next  Thursday, 
will  ye  ?  and  kind  of  stiff  me  up  ?  I  haven't  no  idee 
how  to  behave." 

Esther  laughed  and  promised;  Delia's  justification 
of  her  changed  plans  was  certainly  a  funny  piece  of 
sophistry ;  but  when  Esther  told  Sybil  the  tale,  with 
smiles,  it  smote  her  heart  with  a  dull  pain  instead  of 
laughter ;  here  was  a  woman  who  had  held  out  as  she 
had ;  yet  at  last  been  overcome  and  was  about  to  be 
happy  in  the  natural,  womanly  way ;  her  sore  heart 
cried  out  in  sudden  envy  ;  it  did  not  strike  her  that 


GRIST.  201 

she  and  Delia  were  as  incapable  of  comparison  as  a 
seraph  and  a  hen,  — that  for  her  there  was  something 
higher  than  happiness  reserved  as  a  portion;  the 
blessedness  of  a  faithful  spirit  j  the  joy  and  the  white 
robe  of  them  that  overcome. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

DELAY. 

Speech  is  silver,  silence  is  golden. 

WHILE  all  these  things  were  going  on  in  that  quiet 
that  masks  the  inward  strife  and  progression  of 
earthly  life,  Mr.  Hall  was  not  unobservant  or  in 
active. 

He  kept  a  tacit  guardianship  over  Esther  and  her 
school ;  once  a  week  he  examined  the  children  on 
their  primer,  and  happy  was  the  child  who  went 
through  it  without  a  stumble,  from 

"  In  Adam's  fall 
We  sinned  all." 
to 

"Zaccheus  he 
Did  climb  the  Tree 
Our  Lord  to  see." 

for  when  the  long  alphabet  of  rhymes  was  correctly 
said,  some  edible  reward  issued  at  once  from  the 
pocket  of  the  minister's  broad-tailed  coat ;  some  red 
apple,  some  late  sweet  peach,  perhaps  a  spicy  nut- 
cake,  or  a  gingerbread  monster ;  and  now  and  then 
Parson  Hall  had  a  field  day  in  the  most  literal  sense 
of  the  word,  when  he  would  unexpectedly  break  up 
the  school,  and  take  them,  teacher  and  all,  for  a  long 
walk  in  the  woods,  the  meadows,  or  by  the  shore; 

202 


DELAY.  203 

teaching  them  as  he  went,  the  uses  of  herbs  that  grew 
by  the  way,. the  difference  in  the  growth,  the  foliage, 
and  the  bark  of  trees;  the  varying  species  of  sea 
weed  and  shells  ;  or  when  the  soft  autumn  days  shed 
their  mists  of  fire  over  the  woods,  he  took  them  nut 
ting,  or  to  gather  wild  grapes.  All  this  time  he  was 
learning  to  love  Esther  with  the  strong,  silent  passion 
of  a  man  who  has  not  only  suffered  loss  but  been 
denied  the  human  love  that  is  so  dear  to  men,  the 
home  and  fireside  so  coveted,  especially  by  those  who 
do  the  world's  heaviest  work,  —  the  attempt  to  teach 
and  improve  the  race.  Eachel  had  been  an  angel  to 
him  ;  Esther  was  a  woman ;  her  very  faults  fascinated 
him;  the  quick  temper,  the  outspoken  tongue;  the 
brief  anger,  the  sudden  repentance  on  its  heels  ;  the 
capricious  humor ;  the  sweet  heart  of  womanly  affec 
tion  for  her  little  flock ;  each  and  all  moved  and  be 
witched  him ;  but  he  knew  well  that  Esther's  undis 
ciplined  nature  had  been  wrung  to  its  centre  by  Philip 
Kent,  and  he  could  see  that  even  yet  it  bled  and 
moaned  in  the  unhealed  anguish  of  loss ;  he  did  not 
know  that  still  Esther  loved  that  false  man,  when  he 
had  given  his  name  and  his  life  to  another ;  he  could 
not  have  believed  it  had  the  thought  come  into  his 
mind. 

But  one  thing  he  did  know,  —  that  he  must  wait  for 
this  desire  of  his  life ;  that  to  speak  now  would  be 
idle ;  he  must  be  patient,  and  content  himself  with 
giving  her  all  the  help  and  protection  his  office  and 
position  afforded ;  sure  that  time,  enlightener  as  well 


204  STEADFAST. 

as  consoler,  would  at  least  teach  Esther  the  falseness 
and  selfishness  of  Philip  Kent,  and  then  perhaps  that 
empty  heart  might  turn  to  him  for  comfort. 

But  Esther  had  no  idea  of  this.  Day  after  day 
Philip  contrived  in  some  way  to  see  her,  not  every 
day,  but  often ;  it  was  so  pleasant  to  turn  from 
Annetje's  indifference  or  petulance,  to  the  tender 
sweetness  of  Esther's  voice  and  eyes  ;  and  she,  fooled 
by  her  own  heart,  as  myriads  of  women  have  been 
before  her,  grew  to  pity  him  more  than  ever  for  the 
unhappiness  he  half  hinted,  half  confessed,  and  which 
Delia's  revelations  confirmed ;  she  reasoned  with  that 
specious  yet  convincing  sort  of  sophistry  we  all  resort 
to  when  we  desire  to  do  a  thing  we  ought  not  to  do, 
that  there  was  no  harm  in  supplementing  to  Philip 
the  deficiencies  of  his  life  at  home. 

She  forgot  his  falseness  to  her  before ;  his  mar 
riage  which  was  a  deliberate  and  voluntary  step  ;  the 
fact  that  he  had  made  to  her  all  the  professions  of  a 
lover,  and  knew  that  she  thoroughly  shared  what 
seemed  his  real  passion.  A  mere  woman,  forgiving 
more  utterly  than  a  saint,  Esther  ignored  all  this,  and 
hastened  to  meet  her  prodigal  half  way.  They  met 
in  the  old  places,  they  lingered  together  on  the  lonely 
shore,  when  Annetje  believed  him  inspecting  his 
flocks  and  herds  at  Hillside :  and  gradually  as  before, 
Philip  sunned  himself  in  those  warm  eyes,  held  the 
soft  taper  fingers  to  his  lips,  cradled  the  dark  head 
on  his  shoulder,  and  gathered  kisses  at  his  will ; 
Esther  all  this  while  blinded  by  her  re-awakened  pas- 


DELAY.  205 

sion,  filled  with,  an  absorbing  love  that  covered  its 
symbolic  wings  with  the  veil  of  the  nun  Pity,  and 
wore  the  aspect  of  virginal  innocence  and  pure  affec 
tion. 

To  what  irreclaimable  depths  this  loss  of  self  in 
utter  devotion  to  Philip  Kent  might  have-  plunged 
her,  it  is  not  best  to  speculate ;  there  are  thousands 
of  other  women  who  have  dared  these  rapids  and 
gone  over  the  great  fall  to  their  eternal  loss  ;  it  was 
the  good  hand  of  God  that  saved  Esther  on  its  very 
brink,  and  bade  her  shudder  and  recoil  with  the 
heavy  consciousness  and  awful  terror  of  sin  premedi 
tated  if  uncommitted,  when  in  the  after-time  she 
looked  back  on  the  sweet  poison  of  those  hours. 

In  the  meantime,  some  little  merit  is  due  to  Philip ; 
either  his  early  training,  his  fear  of  Annetje,  or  his 
dread  of  popular  reprobation,  deterred  him  from  tak 
ing  the  worst  advantage  of  Esther ;  probably,  he 
might  yet  have  ruined  and  betrayed  her  had  nothing 
interposed  to  prevent,  but  so  far  he  had  in  a  measure 
respected  her  friendless  innocence,  and  understood 
the  pure  if  mad  passion  which  trusted  him  so  utterly, 
and  worshipped  him  so  boundlessly,  and  which  a 
worse  or  stronger  man  would  have  misinterpreted. 

Parson  Hall  had  been  away  from  his  parish  very 
much  this  summer ;  a  brother  clergyman,  failing  in 
health  in  his  charge  in  one  of  the  Southern  cities,  but 
too  poor  to  leave  his  home  and  travel,  had  come  to 
Trumbull  for  a  short  visit  to  his  mother,  and  was 
glad  to  earn  a  little  by  supplying  Parson  Hall's  pul- 


206  STEADFAST. 

pit,  while  the  parson  went  up  to  Northampton  to  par 
take  in  and  investigate  a  state  of  things  new  to  him, 
except  in  theory,  now  possessing  the  church  of  Jona 
than  Edwards. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  that  wonderful  interest  in 
religious  truth,  and  conversion  to  its  faith  and  prac 
tice  that  swept  over  America  from  North  to  South  at 
that  time  ;  under  the  ministrations  of  the  New  Eng 
land  clergy  first,  followed  by  Whitfield,  Tennant, 
and  various  others. 

Parson  Hall  had  heard  of  this  spiritual  revival, 
afterward  called  the  Great  Awakening,  and  always 
alert  toward  heavenly  things  he  would  have  gone  to 
Northampton  in  its  beginning  but  for  the  needs  of 
his  own  people ;  he  could  not  leave  his  flock  with  no 
shepherd,  and  loudly  as  his  soul  called  for  the  re 
freshment  of  this  new  and  lofty  experience,  he  felt 
that  his  duty  forbade  him  to  go  away,  and  in  those 
days,  duty  was  the  dominant  chord  of  every  Chris 
tian  man's  life. 

But  when  Mr.  Atterbury  came  back  to  Trumbull, 
and  confided  to  Parson  Hall  that  he  had  fetched  with 
him  a  goodly  parcel  of  sermons,  writ  for  and  deliv 
ered  unto  his  people  in  the  Carolinas,  and  desired  to 
find  a  parish  where  he  might  be  hired  for  the  sum 
mer,  so  to  defray  his  modest  expenses  in  Trumbull ; 
the  parson  knew  that  his  earnest  prayer,  that  a  way 
might  be  opened  for  him  to  share  in  the  new  light, 
had  been  answered. 

He  installed  Mr.  Atterbury,  a  slight,  refined-looking 


DELAY.  207 

man  with  a  fervent  soul  and  a  persuasive  voice,  over 
his  congregation,  and  betook  himself  up  the  country, 
to  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  great  Jonathan  Edwards. 

It  was  while  he  was  gone,  that  a  great  blow  and  a 
great  deliverance  came  to  Sybil ;  John  Stonebridge, 
about  the  beginning  of  August  left  Trumbull  sud 
denly.  He  had  made  no  overt  attempt  again  to 
soften  Sybil's  heart ;  it  is  true  he  behaved  himself  in 
her  presence  as  one  desperate  and  destroyed  in  hope 
and  life  ;  his  eyes  wore  a  look  of  gloom  and  evil,  his 
lips  a  curling  sneer ;  but  she  knew  that  he  shared  in 
all  the  junketings  of  the  Talcott  family  and  their  gay 
friends ;  for  hospitality  and  gayety  were  marked 
traits  of  the  Stonebridge  tribe  to  its  remotest  ramifi 
cation  ;  and  being  "  church  "  people,  as  Episcopalians 
were  sometimes  styled  in  those  days,  they  were  not 
circumscribed  by  the  rigid  regulations  of  the  Presby 
terians,  but  took  the  position  of  dissenters  awarded 
to  all  other  sects  but  that  one  favored  by  the  Puritans, 
and  made  the  most  of  their  freedom.  Sybil  knew 
that  John  Stonebridge  danced  ofttimes  till  the  small 
hours  of  night;  that  he  was  an  adept  at  the  card- 
table,  where  he  won  fabulous  sums  of  money ;  that  he 
practised  at  "  the  fence  "  with  his  comrades,  and  was 
a  keen  sportsman.  When  he  passed  the  house  with 
other  laughing  and  shouting  men,  comrades  of  the 
army,  revellers  from  the  city,  armed  for  a  hunt  in  the 
woods,  his  face  wreathed  with  jollity  and  good  fellow 
ship,  Sybil  learned  by  sheer  repetition  the  old  lesson, 

that 

"  Man's  love  is  of  man's  life,  a  thing  apart." 


208  STEADFAST. 

But  her  pride  and  her  piety  both  forbade  her  to  ac 
knowledge  that 

"'Tis  woman's  whole  existence." 

She  tried  feebly  but  honestly  to  divert  her  thoughts 
from  their  forbidden  channel ;  she  visited  among  the 
few  poor  that  the  thrifty  village  harbored,  she  waited 
upon  the  sick,  she  consoled  the  suffering,  she  learned 
how  to  make  all  the  delicate  viands  that  please  or 
nourish  invalids,  and  supplied  them  to  cases  of  need 
and  desert ;  she  interested  herself  in  the  fervent  and 
eloquent  sermons  of  Mr.  Atterbury ;  her  head  bent 
lowest  in  prayer,  her  voice  rose  highest  in  praise ;  she 
was  punctual  at  every  service ;  —  yet  against  her  con 
victions,  her  will,  her  common  sense,  she  was  haunted 
through  all  by  John  Stonebridge's  face,  as  if  she  were 
a  murderer  and  he  a  victim. 

One  still  August  day,  when  the  sky  was  gray,  the 
south  wind  blowing,  and  the  sullen  dash  of  long,  dark 
waves  beating  the  shore,  Hiram  drove  up  to  Governor 
Stanley's  house  and  asked  to  see  Miss  Sybil.  She  left 
the  window  where  she  sat  looking  at  the  water,  and 
seeing  instead  a  man's  face,  and  went  down.  Hiram 
stood  at  the  hall  door,  keeping  an  eye  on  his  gig, 
which  was  the  pride  of  his  soul,  and  twirling  his  old 
straw  hat  between  his  horny  hands. 

He  made  Sybil  an  awkward  bow  and  plunged  at 
once  into  his  errand.  "  Say,  Miss  Sybil,  Delye  wants 
to  know  ef  you  can  come  over  to  Hillside  right  off  ? 
there's  a  woman  there  seems  to  be  sort  of  crazy-like, 


DELAY.  209 

or  something  and  she's  bound  to  see  you ;  she's  got 
your  name  writ  onto  a  paper.  I  tackled  up  and  come 
over  for  ye,  and  I'll  fetch  ye  back  ef  you'll  go." 

"Yes,  Hiram,  I  will  go,"  said  Sybil,  with  a  faint, 
sweet  smile. 

She  was  often  so  sent  for,  and  only  staying  to  put 
some  simple  doses  and  a  jar  of  gruel  into  the  basket, 
she  used  for  such  purposes,  she  stepped  into  the  gig 
beside  Hiram,  and  a  half  hour's  drive  through  the  sad, 
sunless  air  brought  them  to  the  farm. 

Delia  came  out  to  meet  them,  flushed  and  tearful. 

"  Land  of  Goshen,  Miss  Sybil ;  she's  cleared  out ! 
She  hes,  and  left  the  babe  right  here.  I  am  beat ! " 

"How  came  she  here  at  first  ?  "  asked  Sybil. 

"  Why,  she  footed  it  over  from  Darby,  right  along 
the  'pike,  so  she  told,  and  she  was  real  footsore  ;  but 
fust  thing  she  come  in,  she  pulled  out  a  paper  with 
your  name  on't,  and  asked  real  prompt,  if  you  lived 
round  here,  and  when  I  said  you  did,  she  was  for  goin' 
down  to  the  taown  right  off,  but  I  said  Hi  should  fetch 
ye.  When  that  he  was  gone,  she  set  and  meditated 
quite  a  spell ;  then  she  wanted  some  writin'  paper,  so 
I  give  her  a  leaf  out  of  the  back  side  of  "  Jinkses 
Devotions,"  and  Hi's  quill  pen,  and  she  writ  a  spell, 
and  then  she  sort  of  folded  up  the  paper  and  laid  it 
onto  the  babe's  breast,  he  lyin'  asleep  onto  the  settle- 
bench.  I  went  out  to  see  if  my  biscuits  was  riz,  and 
when  I  come  in  she  was  gone,  and  she  ha'n't  come 
back  yet.  I  don't  know  nothing  what's  come  of  her." 

Sybil  stooped  to  look  at  the  sleeping  child  and  saw 


210  STEADFAST. 

her  own  name  on  the  paper,  under  one  of  its  tiny 
hands.  She  took  it  from  that  slight  pressure  and 
opened  it.  This  was  written  in  it,  — 

"  sibil  Saltonstol.  I  heered  John  say  that  Name  in 
his  slepe ;  hee  was  Mine  and  You  took  him :  now  You 
can  Hav  his  Childe  :  You  hav  stole  One,  take  t'other. 

I  hav  no  Concern  to  liv  no  More 

"arbell." 

Sybil  shuddered  and  dropped  the  paper  on  the 
floor.  This  was  the  way  that  John  Stonebridge  con 
soled  himself  then.  Her  face  grew  stern  and  white, 
her  pride  took  fire,  her  purity  recoiled ;  traitor  alike 
to  God,  to  this  creature,  to  her,  John  Stonebridge  fell 
from  his  pedestal  then  and  there.  She  loathed  with 
all  her  soul  the  feet  of  clay  that  her  idol  stood  upon. 

"Is  the'  anything  about  the  babe  ?  "  asked  Delia. 

Sybil  did  not  answer  her.  The  child  was  the  sign 
and  seal  of  guilt  and  sin.  No  instinct  of  womanhood 
stirred  her  pity  for  its  evil  fate,  its  hapless  innocence. 

"You  can  take  it  to  the  selectmen,"  she  said,  at 
last,  speaking  like  an  automaton ;  she  did  not  even 
lift  the  paper  from  where  it  dropped,  she  drew  up  the 
hood  of  her  light  riding-cloak  and  went  out  to  the  gig, 
Hiram  following.  When  he  came  back  he  said  to 
Delia,— 

"Say,  she  never  spoke  a  word  the  hull  way.  I 
never  see  a  human  critter  look  the  way  she  did. 
What  upon  airth  did  that  paper  say  ?  "  For  Hiram's 
keen,  marital  eyes  perceived  that  it  was  gone  from  the 
floor. 


DELAY.  211 

"  Oh,  land !  a  mess  of  stuff  !  The  girl  wanted  for  to 
have  her  take  that  child."  For  Delia  sometimes  re 
served  her  confidences. 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  want  no  child  o'  mine  to  be  took 
by  one  that  looked  like  as  she  did.  She  ain't  real 
kindly,  now  is  she,  Delye  ?  " 

"Well,  she  is,  an'  she  ain't.  She's  proud  as  all  pos 
sessed,  and  pious  as  all  natur,  and  the'  has  ben  times 
when  she  set  by  some  folks  like  everything.  But  I 
guess  she'll  let  that  babe  alone." 

"  What  be  you  goin'  to  do  with  't  ?  "  meekly  in 
quired  Hiram. 

"Give  it  some  warm  milk,"  was  Delia's  dry  re 
sponse. 

Sybil  was  once  more  alone  in  her  chamber,  dry-eyed, 
wan,  silent. 

Out  on  the  lashing  water,  christened  into  that  new 
ness  of  life  we  call  death,  by  the  dripping  rain,  floated 
John  Stonebridge's  idle  love,  the  mother  of  his  for 
saken  child,  —  poor  Arbell. 

But  Sybil  lived  to  conquer  and  to  serve. 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

JUDGMENT. 

Sense  endureth  no  extremities  ;  and  sorrows  destroy  us  or 
themselves. 

THE  little  village  of  Trumbull  was  thrown  into 
wild  excitement  two  days  after  Sybil's  visit  to  Hill 
side  Farm  by  the  discovery  of  a  young  girl's  body 
washed  up  on  the  shore  close  by.  Delia  at  once  sus 
pected  that  it  was  her  transient  guest,  and  would  have 
kept  the  surmise  to  herself,  but  that  she  knew  Hiram, 
a  real  masculine  gossip,  would  never  be  able  to  hold 
his  peace  on  the  subject,  however  she  might  exhort 
him.  She  judged  him  truly ;  no  sooner  did  he  hear 
of  the  discovery,  than  he  avowed  his  belief  that  it 
was  the  girl  who  had  left  her  baby  with  his  wife,  and 
Delia  was  at  once  sent  for  to  identify  the  body.  Poor 
Arbell !  the  delicate,  rounded  figure  lay  on  a  bench  in 
a  fisherman's  hut  just  out  of  the  village,  its  clinging 
garments  torn  from  the  strong  white  arms  and  marble 
bosom  by  the  fury  of  the  waves,  the  bare  feet  bruised 
and  one  wrenched  cruelly,  but  the  lovely  face  undis- 
figured,  tranquil,  but  oh  how  ineffably  sad  !  Its  ten 
der  outlines  were  brought  out  by  the  mass  of  dark 
wavy  hair  that  poured  its  wealth,  dank  and  dripping, 
about  the  dimpled  shoulders  even  to  the  knee,  and 


JUDGMENT.  213 

Delia's  tears  fell  hot  and  fast  as  she  looked  at  the 
hapless  wreck  of  life  and  loveliness. 

She  had,  with  sudden  prevision,  thrown  the  note 
Sybil  read  into  the  fire,  and  when,  posted  by  Hiram, 
the  justice  who  presided  at  this  informal  inquest,  a 
man  of  many  small  offices,  being  justice  of  the  peace, 
coroner,  hog-hayward,  titheing-man,  and  town  clerk, 
asked  her  what  were  the  contents  of  the  note,  she 
answered  him  as  she  had  her  husband,  that  it  was  a 
request  that  Miss  Saltonstall  should  take  care  of  her 
baby. 

"I  'spose,"  added  Delia,  astutely,  "the  poor  cretur 
had  heerd  how  good  Miss  Sybil  is  to  folks,  and 
havin'  made  her  mind  up  to  do  away  with  herself,  she 
thought  to  leave  the  babe  in  good  hands.  Its  amazin' 
to  me  she  didn't  drownd  it  along  with  her." 

The  sole  item  of  information  beside  this  was  the 
girl's  own  confession  that  she  came  to  Trumbull  from 
Derby,  thirty  miles  up  the  country,  but  in  the  whole 
some  want  of  communication  among  the  scattered 
towns  of  the  colony,  and  the  equally  wholesome  want 
of  gossiping  newspapers,  Derby  gave  no  sign,  and  it 
was  nobody's  business  to  go  thither  and  hunt  up  in 
formation  that  could  do  no  good  ;  this  waif  of  the 
world  was  buried  in  a  corner  of  the  Trumbull  grave 
yard,  and  no  stone  told  her  mournful  story,  or  even 
that  her  name  was  Arbell. 

Madam  Talcott  had  her  own  suspicions  ;  she  remem 
bered  that  the  day  John  Stonebridge  left  her  house  so 
suddenly,  she  had  herself  taken  the  few  letters  from 


214 


STEADFAST. 


the  servant  who  fetched  them,  and  that  of  the  two 
John  had,  one  was  on  regimental  business  evidently, 
from   its    outer   aspect  and   peculiarity   of    address, 
while  the  other  was  directed  in  an  unformed  round 
hand,  and  in  the  corner  was  scrawled  "Derby"  after 
the   fashion    of    old-time    country   postmarks.     But 
Madam  Talcott  was  a  wise  and  a  proud  woman;  she 
said  nothing.     Well  she  knew  that  the  Stonebridge 
race   thought  little  of  what   they  termed  "  peccadil 
loes  "  of  this  sort ;  many  a  village  girl  before  Arbell 
had  rued  the  day  when  one  of  that  family  had  noticed 
their  rustic  beauty  and  betrayed  their  simple  faith. 
She  hoped  the  matter  might  be  hushed  up  and  never 
come  to  Sybil's  ear,  for  though  she  inwardly  thought 
Sybil  a  stiff  prude,  she  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
her   cousin   John    "settle   himself"   so   well,   as   to 
wealth  and  position,  and  she  held  the  ancient  fallacy 
firmly,  that  a  reformed  rake  makes  the  best  husband. 
But  for  Sybil  all  "  love  time,"  as  the  old  poets  call 
it,  was  over.     Her  pride,  the  besetting  sin  of  her  na 
ture,  was  up  in  arms ;  she  loathed  the  thought  that 
ever  she   had  stooped  to  care  for  an  adulterer   and 
murderer,  for  she  looked  the  truth  in  the  face,  revolt 
ing  as  its  visage  was.     And  to  fortify  her  pride,  as 
Delia  had  said,  came  in  her  piety ;  she  shuddered  to 
think  how  near  she  had  come  to  yielding  her  life  and 
soul   into   the   guidance    of    such   a   reprobate,   and 
thanked  God  fervently  that  she  had  been  enabled  to 
fight  the  good  fight  of  faith  and  lay  hold  on  eternal 
life.     Alas  !  it  is  a  phrase  of  war  that  there  are  some 


JUDGMENT.  215 

victories  that  are  worse  than  defeats  ;  her  purposes 
were  indeed  broken  off,  and  an  awful  void,  a  sense  of 
outlook  into  some  horrid  gulf  from  the  edge  of  a 
precipice,  such  as  haunts  the  troubled  dreamer, 
showed  her  now  that  hitherto  she  had,  unconsciously, 
cherished  a  little  spark  of  hope  in  the  future,  of  an 
swer  to  prayer. 

She  did  not  in  this  rirst  blank  consider  that  all  an 
swers  to  prayer  are  not  affirmative,  or  that  John 
Stonebridge,  with  the  scornful  levity  characteristic  of 
the  man,  would  resist  and  defy  even  the  influence  of 
the  woman  lie  loved  best,  if  it  tended  toward  a 
higher  life  than  he  led  of  his  own  will.  But  the 
release  of  -Sybil  also  was  the  safety  of  Esther. 

Jealous,  without  knowing  where  or  upon  whom  to 
direct  her  jealousy,  when  Annetje  heard  the  sorrow 
ful  story  of  Arbell,  her  suspicions,  cruel  and  insulting 
as  the  suspicions  of  jealousy  ever  are,  fell  upon 
Philip  ;  he  was  away  from  her  a  great  deal  on  plea 
of  business  of  course,  and  her  own  condition  of  health 
just  now  would  not  admit  of  her  taking  long  drives ; 
she  put  "this  and  that  together,"  much  after  the 
fashion  of  a  modern  crazy-quilt,  and  worked  herself 
up  into  a  conviction,  almost  amounting  to  certainty, 
that  Philip  was  the  seducer  of  the  suicide,  and  the 
father  of  the  child  still  in  Delia's  care  ;  for  Delia  had 
found  it  hard  to  part  with  the  baby,  who  won  its  way 
into  her  childless  tender  heart,  not  only  because  it  was 
a  baby  and  motherless,  but  because  it  had  all  those 
infantile  charms  that  make  babyhood  irresistible. 


216  STEADFAST. 

That  the  child  was  left  at  Hillside,  and  that  Delia 
had  kept  it,  confirmed  Annetje  in  her  belief :  she  did 
not  really  love  Philip,  but  she  loved  herself  intensely, 
and  treason  to  her  position  was  a  dire  offence.  Angry 
and  insulted,  Philip  at  first  refused  to  exculpate  him 
self,  but  frightful  hysterics  on  his  wife's  part,  and  a 
certain  sense  of  guilt  on  his,  as  far  as  losing  his  affec 
tion  for  her  and  making  love  to  another  woman 
seemed  to  him  guilt,  at  last  drove  him  into  a  patched- 
up  peace  ;  but  Annetje  was  determined  to  leave  Trum- 
bull  at  once  and  return  to  New  York  for  her  confine 
ment,  instead  of  staying  near  what  she  was  pleased  to 
call  a  "  rival  baby,"  and  in  the  interim  she  would  not 
allow  Philip  a  moment  out  of  her  sight,  and  he  dared 
not  write  a  word  of  farewell  to  Esther  lest  it  should 
fall  into  other  hands. 

So  again  he  left  her,  as  suddenly  as  before,  and 
again  with  Annetje. 

And  having  so  left  her  it  occurred  to  him  that 
after  all  the  situation  had  been  embarrassing  j  he  had 
now  a  chance  to  put  an  end  to  what  might  be  a  pain 
ful  and  weary  relation  in  the  future,  so  like  a  wise 
man  he  dropped  Esther  entirely  ;  not  one  word  came 
to  refresh  her  tired  and  anxious  spirit ;  she  was  again 
alone,  with  her  own  thoughts.  This  second  desertion 
as  it  seemed  to  Esther,  aroused  her  to  a  deeper  knowl 
edge  of  Philip's  real  character  than  she  had  hitherto 
possessed.  She  began  to  understand  the  overpower 
ing  self-love  that  was  his  dominant  trait,  and  in  the 
new  pain  of  this  second  loss  she  also  saw  how  false 


JUDGMENT.  217 

and  wrong  her  own  conduct  had  been.  Severed  from 
the  eyes  that  had  for  her  the  real  snake-charm  ;  hear 
ing  no  more  the  voice  of  tender  passion  that  had  fed 
her  bewitched  ear  with  phrases  of  love  and  appeals 
for  consolation,  Esther,  like  Sybil,  stood  in  the  midst 
of  the  wilderness,  alone,  but  without  Sybil's  consoling 
consciousness  of  a  victory  over  herself,  and  a  stainless 
heart  and  life. 

Shortly  after  Philip  and  his  family  returned  to  New 
York,  Parson  Hall  came  back  from  his  three  months' 
stay  at  Northampton.  In  his  absence,  Aunt  Kuthy 
had  gone  up  the  country  to  see  relatives,  and  the 
parsonage  stood  empty  of  life.  Trumbull  people 
were  glad  enough  to  see  its  windows  thrown  open 
again,  and  the  smoke  curling  up  from  its  great  chim 
ney  ;  and  Mr.  Hall  was  equally  glad  to  be  at  home. 

His  stay  in  Northampton  had  been  a  fresh  and 
vivid  experience  to  him ;  like  most  of  his  contempor 
aries,  he  had  been  educated  under  the  precepts  of  the 
law  of  God,  and  the  rigid  demands  of  duty  ;  the  Gos 
pel  was  set  aside  in  those  days  as  too  mild  a  doctrine 
to  use  freely ;  and  sinners  were  driven  with  scorpion 
lashes  of  threatening,  fears  of  judgment  to  come, 
horrors  of  eternal  punishment,  to  accept  conversion 
instead  of  salvation. 

But  Parson  Hall's  nature,  and  the  sweet  charities 
of  Rachel's  religion  had  agreed  so  well,  that  long  be 
fore  he  went  to  Northampton  his  belief  had  grown 
uneasy  to  him;  he  felt  a  deep  need  of  something 
more  comforting  and  healing  than  the  stringent  de- 


218  STEADFAST. 

mands  of  the  decalogue,  and  the  aspect  of  God  as  an 
avenger  and  punisher.  In  the  midst  of  the  crowds  at 
Northampton  who  were  melted  to  tears  or  excited  to 
joyful  praise  by  the  divine  eloquence  of  Whitfield 
and  Edwards,  he  too  learned  the  lesson  of  the  Gospel, 
that  God  is  love,  not  in  the  sense  of  that  feeble  human 
love,  that  is  weak,  partial,  and  incapable  of  justice ; 
but  love  that  is  spiritual,  sacrificial,  strong,  and  tem 
pering  its  true  judgments  with  heavenly  mercy. 

Full  of  this  new  light  he  returned  to  his  charge, 
and  soon  the  church  at  Trumbull  was  filled  to  its  ex 
treme  capacity,  for  not  only  his  own  people,  but  those 
of  adjoining  parishes  flocked  to  hear  him,  and  the 
Great  Awakening  extended  all  over  that  part  of  Con 
necticut. 

There  were  meetings  thrice  a  week  besides  those  on 
Sunday,  the  small  gayeties  of  the  town  were  sus 
pended,  shopmen  closed  their  doors,  fishermen  left 
their  nets  to  dry,  farmers  forgot  their  ploughing  for 
winter  grain ;  men,  women,  and  children  poured  into 
the  church,  all  sects  and  many  of  no  sect  flocked  to 
hear  the  wonderful  Gospel ;  a  story  old  as  ever,  but 
forever  new;  and  more  than  new  in  its  rekindled 
aspect,  and  the  heart-thrilled  eloquence  of  him  who 
now  delivered  it. 

Hiram,  driven  by  Delia  to  attend  these  meetings, 
when  the  baby  kept  her  at  home,  soon  came  under 
this  influence,  and  to  his  wife's  tearful  joy  declared 
himself  a  changed  man,  and  was  admitted  to  the 
church. 


JUDGMENT.  219 

"  He  was  good  enough  afore,"  declared  Delia,  "  as 
fur  as  this  world  goes ;  I  hadn't  never  no  fault  to 
find  with  Hi ;  he's  a  good  provider,  and  amazin'  kind 
to  his  own  folks,  and  dretful  handy  round  the  house. 
I  dono  as  he'll  be  any  better  in  them  ways,  but  he 
wasn't  a  professor  nor  he  wa'n't  reelly  converted; 
didn't  never  read  the  Bible,  nor  pray,  nor  attend  the 
Sanctooary  reg'lar.  I  used  to  feel  consider'ble  bad 
when  I  thought  about  his  future  state,  and  the  onsar- 
tainty  of  life,  and  such  as  that ;  for  I  set  quite  a  little 
by  Hirani ;  and  its  been  borne  in  on  my  mind  that 
mabbe  I  done  wrong  to  him  as  well  as  to  my  profes 
sion  by  marry  in'  of  him.  I  dono's  I  did,  an  I  dono 
as  I  did ;  but  it's  all  right  now,  glory  halleluyer !  an' 
thank  the  Lord !  "  and  she  wiped  her  eyes  with  her 
checked  apron,  for  they  were  full  to  overflowing. 

Even  Sybil's  rigid,  pale  face  softened  and  glowed 
with  sympathetic  feeling  as  she  too  learned  further 
of  the  love  that  had  only  worn  to  her  the  stern  linea 
ments  of  dreary  duty.  Parson  Hall  had  noticed  two 
faces  when  he  first  went  up  into  his  pulpit  after  so 
long  an  absence,  that  made  his  heart  ache ;  Sybil's, 
set  in  lifeless,  icy  endurance  ;  Esther's,  full  of  unen 
durable  woe.  For  Esther's  face  was  one  of  wonder 
ful  expression,  it  varied  with  every  thought :  when 
she  was  gay  it  absolutely  sparkled,  when  she  was  sad 
all  its  lineaments  were  surcharged  with  grief  so 
patent  that  even  the  little  children  of  her  charge 
stole  to  her  side  with  mute  caresses,  and  whispered 
wistfully  among  themselves.  It  wrung  Parson  Hall's 


220  STEADFAST. 

heart  to  look  at  Esther ;  he  had  left  her  blooming 
and  blissful,  now  she  was  the  image  of  despair.  He 
knew  Philip  Kent  had  left  Truinbull  somewhat  sud 
denly,  but  he  had  only  just  heard  it,  and  he  shrank 
from  attributing  to  this  fact,  Esther's  unhappiness. 
Sybil's  face  pained  him  too,  but  she  had  never  inter 
ested  him  like  Esther.  Sybil  had  the  capacity  for 
being  a  saint,  but  one  saint  at  a  time  is  as  much  as 
the  best  of  men  can  endure  as  a  companion ;  it  was 
Esther's  total  unlikeness  to  Eachel  that  attracted 
Parson  Hall ;  whatever  life  might  bring  to  her  of  a 
new  love  or  a  religious  experience,  Esther  would 
always  be  a  woman  j  warm,  jealous  perhaps,  faithful, 
loving,  and  impulsive ;  the  sort  of  creature  to  pet, 
to  caress,  to  be  a  companion;  amusing  and  tender, 
"  everything  by  turns,  and  nothing  long,"  but  never  a 
saint  j  that  sort  of  material  was  not  in  her. 

The  story  of  Arbell,  too,  had  but  recently  been  told 
to  the  minister,  and  he  had  his  opinion  of  the  matter ; 
but  it  did  not,  like  Annetje's,  cast  a  shadow  of  suspi 
cion  on  Philip,  rather  did  it  find  confirmation  in 
Sybil's  wan  and  frigid  aspect,  the  look  of  one  who 
has  lost  all  that  made  earth  dear,  and  was  not  yet 
comforted  by  the  peace  of  heaven. 

But  as  the  days  went  on,  Esther  was  carried  out  of 
herself  and  her  grief ;  her  heart,  sad  and  vacant, 
turned  to  the  hopes  of  the  gospel  as  a  flower  opens  to 
the  dawn  :  she  saw  no  longer  an  angry  and  avenging 
God  ready  to  visit  her  with  direct  judgment  for  her 
sin,  but  she  perceived  a  redeeming  Saviour,  come  to 


JUDGMENT.  221 

deliver  her  at  once  from  its  penalty  and  its  bondage, 
and  with  all  her  enthusiastic  nature  she  devoted  her 
self  to  His  service,  and  basked  in  the  sweetness  of 
forgiveness,  the  joy  of  a  new  spiritual  life  ;  she,  too, 
with  a  crowd  of  others,  stood  up  with  Hiram  to 
acknowledge  her  inward  change  and  pledge  herself  to 
the  Master,  and  Parson  Hall  bitterly  rebuked  himself 
that  in  that  solemn  hour  he  could  notice  the  rapt 
loveliness  of  her  countenance,  the  peace  and  glory,  of 
her  beautiful  eyes  ;  he  forgot  that  he  was  a  man  as 
well  as  a  minister. 

But  Esther  knew  she  was  still  a  woman ;  even  in 
those  hours  of  prayer  that  filled  her  soul  with  the 
divine  tranquillity  that  comes  of  communion  with  the 
divine,  she  could  not  yet  pray  for  Philip ;  she  felt  her 
past  sin  with  renewed  poignance  since  she  also  felt 
that  it  was  forgiven  of  God ;  and  she  felt,  too,  more 
bitterly,  the  sin  and  shame  belonging  to  a  man  who, 
himself  a  professor  of  the  same  religion,  could  so 
belie  his  avowed  faith  by  his  walk  and  conversation. 
It  was  as  yet  impossible,  even  in  the  humility  and 
joy  of  her  own  forgiveness,  that  she  should  forgive 
Philip  or  pray  for  him.  She  had  yet  to  learn  that 
forgiveness  does  not  mean  excuse  or  condemnation, 
but  a  fulness  of  superhuman  goodness  that 

"  Like  a  mighty  stream 

O'er  all  our  sins  divinely  flows." 

It  was  not  so  with  Sybil ;  in  the  new  uplifting  of 
her  already  consecrated  soul,  she  prayed  for  John 
Stonebridge  as  a  cherub,  image  of  wisdom  and 


222  STEADFAST. 

strength,  might  have  prayed  for  a  sinful  man ;  with 
out  one  throb  of  emotion  or  personal  interest,  but  on 
general  principles ;  just  as  she  prayed  for  all  the 
people  of  the  colony,  for  heathens  and  publicans  and 
sinners  everywhere.  John  Stonebridge  as  a  man  and 
a  lover  was  forever  dead  to  her,  and  she  had  made 
"  suttee  "  upon  his  memory,  of  this  world's  passions 
and  hopes,  as  far  as  she  had  any  share  in  them ;  but 
as  a  sinner  among  other  sinners,  still  going  astray 
and  beguiling  others  into  sin,  he  still  lived  and 
needed  prayer.  He  would  not  have  been  nattered 
by  his  position  in  Sybil's  mind;  even  if  he  ever 
should  know  it.  Could  it  be  true  here  too,  that 

"  It  was  uot  love  that  went "  ? 


CHAPTER   XXI. 
TEMPY'S  TURN. 

An  odd  little  god, 

Dan  Cupid,  is  he ! 
His  arrows  do  fly,  alow  and  ahigh ; 

A  wonder  to  me. 

AMONG  others  who  crowded  in  from  the  neighbor 
ing  villages  during  this  period,  to  hear  Parson  Hall 
preach  at  the  "  protracted  meetings."  was  a  certain 
little  man  of  discreet  age,  who  had  met  Miss  Temper 
ance  Tucker  before  she  came  to  live  in  Trumbull. 

Deacon  Ammi  Hopkins  was  a  short,  fierce-looking, 
alert  person ;  his  gray  hair  was  brushed  as  upright  on 
his  head,  as  if  it  were  a  bristle  brush;  his  deep-set 
eyes  snapped  with  determination,  and  his  shaggy, 
heavy  eyebrows  gave  him  a  perpetual  frown  ;  while 
his  thick,  red  nose,  and  firm  lips  gave  you  the  idea  of 
a  will  and  temper  not  easily  moved  or  placated.  But 
it  was  not  so ;  it  is  true  Ammi  was  a  man  of  loud  and 
aggressive  speech,  but  at  heart  kindly,  simple,  and  in 
tent  to  do  all  his  duty  according  to  his  "light." 

He  came  in  to  call  on  Miss  Tempy  one  night,  after 
tea,  and  poured  out  his  story  to  her  sympathetic  ear, 
for  he  had  a  story.  The  unlucky  little  man  had  just 
been  admonished  by  the  church  in  Pickering,  where 
he  lived,  and  his  whole  soul  was  roused  with  what  he 
would  have  called  righteous  indignation. 
223 


224  STEADFAST. 

"I'll  tell  ye  jest  how  'twas,  Miss  Tempy,"  he  said, 
carefully  depositing  his  broad-brimmed  beaver  hat  on 
the  floor,  spreading  his  red  and  yellow  bandana  hand 
kerchief  across  his  knees,  and  pursing  up  his  lips  with 
a  pleased  consciousness  that  he  had  a  tale  of  woe  to 
impart. 

"  You  see,  Parson  Dyer,  he  was  a  puttin'  forth  con- 
sider'ble  strong  doctrine  one  Sabbath  day.  I  guess 
'twas  in  July  last;  yes,  'twas;  because  I  remember 
'twas  the  sixth  day  of  July,  of  a  Saturday,  I  had 
bought  a  cow-critter  of  'Minadab  Sparks,  down  to 
Dog's  Misery,  'n  he'd  got  the  better  of  nie  on  the 
trade ;  for  come  to  rind  out  that  cow  was  nine  year 
old,  ef  she  was  a  day,  and  I've  faith  to  b'lieve  he 
knowed  it  the  hull  time.  Well,  that  sot  me  a  thinkin' 
about  the  sinfulness  of  sin,  'nd  how  bad  'twas  for 
other  folks  besides  the  sinner ;  and  I  fell  back,  as  I 
hed  ofttimes  before,  onto  the  myster'ous  workins  of 
Providence.  I've  always  ruther  consated  that  the' 
wasn't  no  good  puppus  in  sin.  I  can't  see  none, 
and  to  look  at  it  in  a  common  sense  p'int  o'  view  now, 
how  can  the'  be  good  to  evil  ?  It's  a  clear  contradic 
tion  to'  my  mind.  I'd  had  it  revolvin'  around  in  my 
head  all  Sat'day  evenin'.  I'd  read  over  the  Catechiz, 
but  that  didn't  p'int  out  any  way  of  escape,  as  you 
may  say,  nor  I  couldn't  find  none  in  Scriptur  so  fur 
as  I  had  time  to  study  on't  that  night,  concernin'  the 
matter ;  and  Sunday  mornin'  too,  some*  Well,  I  went 
to  meetin',  and  there  I  sot,  still  consarned  in  my  mind 
on  the  subjeck-matter,  when  sure  enough,  Parson  Dyer 


TEMPY'S  TURN.  225 

he  up  and  give  us  a  most  an  amazin'  discourse,  where 
in  he  went  for  to  say  that  sin  was  a  part  of  the  dis 
pensation  of  Providence,  and  ther'fore  wasn't  to  be 
questioned  about ;  nor  no  vain  seekin'  to  be  entered 
into  about  the  cos  or  beginnin'  on't. 

"  Well,  I  was  'stounded,  so  to  speak,  and  clear  put 
about ;  and  I  shook  my  head  consider'ble  smart,  as 
who  should  say  'No  !  no  !  I  purtest  aginst  that  view 
on't.'  I  dono  as  I  should  have  did  it  in  meetin'  if  I 
had  have  considered  the  matter  real  thorough  ;  p'raps 
I  shouldn't ;  but  I  was  took  aback,  and  I  sort  of  spoke 
in  meetin'.  There  wasn't  no  speech  nor  language,  as 
Scriptur  says,  but  in  the  eye  on't  I  sort  of  made  as 
though  I  would  speak,  and  Deacon  Small  he  see  me. 
Now,  Miss  Tempy,  I  should  like  to  ask  ye  what's 
your  onprejudiced  mind  on  the  subject  ?  Did  I  do 
what  I  hadn't  ought  to  hev  did  ?  Did  I  disturb  pub 
lic  worship  an  rile  the  meetin'?  " 

"Well,"  answered  Miss  Tempy,  briskly,  laying 
down  the  stocking  she  was  always  knitting,  and  look 
ing  at  him  over  her  spectacles.  "I'm  free  to  say  I 
dono  wherein  you  done  wrong.  Who  was  to  know 
you  wasn't  asleep,  and  a  dreamin'  ?  " 

"  Me  ! "  screamed  the  outraged  Ammi.  "  Me  asleep 
in  meetin' !  Why,  I'd  ruther  you'd  said  I  had  spoke 
my  mind  right  out.  Haven't  I  sot  under  Parson  Dyer 
this  twenty  odd  year  and  heered  him  down  to  nine- 
teenthly  every  Sabba'-day,  but  one  when  he  was  off  to 
his  sister's  funeral,  and  never  so  much  as  nodded  ?  " 

"Well,  well.  Sam  Small  might  ha7  mistrusted. ye, 


226  STEADFAST. 

for  all.  The  spirit  is  willin'  ye  know  sometimes, 
when  the  flesh  ain't.  As  fur  as  the  doctrine  goes,  why, 
I  ha'n't  looked  into  it  myself.  I'm  considerable  taken 
up  with  my  work  week  days,  and  Sabba'-days  I  feel 
as  though  'twas  the  most  I  could  do  to  listen  to  the 
sermons  without  tryin'  to  take  'em  all  in.  Leastways 
I  done  so  when  I  lived  to  Pickering ;  but  here  'tis  dif 
ferent.  Parson  Hall  is  a  real  searchin'  and  comfortin' 
preacher.  He  don't  fuss  much  with  doctrines  and 
sech." 

"  Well,  I  make  no  doubt,  Sister  Tucker,  but  what 
he's  sooted  to  your  sect.  The  woman  was  in  the 
transgression  ye  know,  and  ain't  on  an  ekality  with 
men  folks.  'Milk  for  babes,'  Scripter  says,  and  it 
ain't  strange  that  Parson  Hall  soots  you ;  but  I  wa'nt 
so  much  inquirin'  as  to  your  opinion  about  the  idea  of 
sin  bein'  a  good  or  no,  as  I  was  askin'  ef  you  seemed 
to  sense  that  I'd  did  enough  to  be  called  up  before  the 
meetin'  and  admonished." 

"  No  ;  I  don't,"  sharply  replied  Tempy.  "  I  don't 
think  you  done  a  thing  out  o'  the  way.  I  dono  why 
a  man  can't  shake  his  head  in  meetin',  if  so  be  he 
feels  to  do  it.  Parson  Dyer  ain't  the  king,  nor  yet 
he  ain't  nyther  pope  nor  bishop.  I  guess  our  folks 
didn't  cross  the  water  to  get  rid  o'  them  church  an 
state  things  to  put  up  with  'em  in  these  colonies." 

The  first  spark  of  the  Eevolution  snapped  in  Miss 
Tempy's  black  eye,  and  its  battle-flag  cast  a  red  glow 
on  her  cheek  as  she  spoke;  yet  she  herself  would 
never  have  dared  to  defy  such  a  constituted  authority 


TEMPY'S  TURN.  227 

as  a  minister's,  —  for  herself.  It  was  her  womanly 
sympathy  with  Ammi ;  it  was  her  womanly  nature 
that  made  her  add,  — 

"  As  to  what  you  was  a  sayin'  about  *  milk  for 
babes'  ef  my  mind  serves  me,  the'  is  a  Scriptur 
about  the  '  pure  milk  of  the  word '  and  sech  it  is,  to 
my  thinkin',  that  we  get  from  Parson  Hall." 

"Well,  well,  well !"  testily  replied  Ammi,  "that's 
nyther  here  nor  there  ;  the  matter  in  hand  is  I  was 
fetched  up  and  admonished ;  and  I  don't  fellowship 
that  proceedin'.  I  shook  my  head  a  puppus ;  and  I'll 
do  it  agin,  ef  I'm  a  mind  to.  I  don't  care  a  corn- 
shuck  about  bein'  admonished  by  'em ;  the  church  has 
backslid  in  these  latter  days  ;  its  full  of  what  the 
Tostle  calls  false  doctrines,  heresies  and  schisms  ; 
there's  the  abominable  doctrines  of  the  Quakers  down 
to  Ehody  ;  there's  the  Baptists  sinnin'  aginst  light 
with  their  dippin'  and  what  not;  there's  the  Hop- 
kinsites,  and  Sandeman's  follerin',  and  the  Lord  only 
knows  what  else  beside ;  Prelatists  right  here  amongst 
ye,  and  Papists,  for-'t-I-know  ;  and  you  set  light  by 
doctrines.  I  tell  ye,  Miss  Tempy,  they're  the  bone 
an'  sinner  of  the  church  of  God  ;  might  as  well  build 
a  barn  'thout  rafters  as  a  church  with  no  doctrines 
nor  covenant  nor  platform." 

"  'Tis  said  they're  dispensin'  with  the  half-way 
covenant  mostly,"  put  in  Miss  Tempy,  with  feminine 
evasion  of  the  question. 

"  I  guess  they  be,  I  guess  they  be.  To  my  mind 
'twas  worse  than  nothin' ;  nyther  fish  nor  flesh,  nor 


228  STEADFAST. 

good  red  herrin'  as  the  say  is.  The  Lord  says,  <  Come 
ye  out  of  her  my  people ! '  meanin'  the  world  an'  its 
comp'ny,  and  comin'  out  is  comin'  out,  'ta'n't  settin' 
on  the  fence  and  lookin'  cross-eyed  both  ways." 

"  Well,  we're  havin'  an  amazin'  season  of  refreshin' 
here,  Deacon  Hopkins,"  smiled  Miss  Tempy,  her  own 
snap  having  hospitably  given  place  to  the  deacon's. 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  be.  I  come  over  a  puppus  to  see  ef 
'twas  a  real  visitation,  and  so  fur  as  I  see  it  doos  ap 
pear  to  be  a  genooine  outpourin'.  I  wish't  Parson 
Dyer  would  have  the  mind  to  come  along  an'  light  his 
lamp  to  this  burnin'  bush." 

Miss  Tempy  did  not  second  the  wish ;  she  was  more 
interested  in  her  visitor  than  in  Parson  Dyer.  She 
rose  nimbly  from  her  low  chair  and  opening  the  door 
of  the  corner  cupboard  extracted  from  its  upper  shelf 
a  goodly  seed  cake  set  on  a  plate  of  old  china ;  a  small 
decanter  of  currant  wine,  and  two  thin  spindle-legged 
wineglasses,  setting  them  on  the  table  by  the  guest 
with  an  air  of  pleased  hospitality.  The  deacon  ac 
cepted  a  wedge  of  the  dainty  loaf,  and  Miss  Tempy 
poured  a  brimming  glass  of  wine. 

"  You've  no  need  to  be  afraid  on't,  deacon,"  she  as 
sured  him.  "  I  made  it  myself,  and  your  mother  giv' 
me  the  rewl.  The's  loaf  sugar  into  %  and  I  picked 
the  currants  myself." 

"I  am  extreme  fond  of  seed  cake,"  murmured  the 
deacon,  his  mouth  filled  with  a  huge  bite  of  that 
viand.  "  I  haven't  tasted  none  like  this  sence  my 
first  died ;  the  second  Mis'  Hopkins  she  was  sickly,  ye 


TBMPY'S  TURN.  229 

know,  and  couldn't  do  round  the  house  at  all;  she 
wan't  nothin'  but  a  bill  of  expense  for  them  four  year, 
and  then  I  berried  her  ;  but  I  trust  she's  in  glory ;  ef 
she  is,  I  know  she  relishes  it ;  yes,  she  relishes  it ;  she 
lived  in  a  poor  dyin'  frame,  as  the  hymn-book  says, 
all  them  years,  and  we  didn't  have  real  good  hired 
help;  our  vittles  wan't  real  relishin'.  I  used  to 
hanker  consider' ble  for  a  biled  dinner  such  as  my  first 
used  to  get  a  Saturdays.  Then  my  third,  she  was  a 
stirrer,  I  tell  ye  !  dre'dful  savin' ;  most  too  much  so  ; 
but  'twas  a  good  p'int,  a  good  p'int.  Ef  so  be  I'd 
have  come  acrost  her  first  time  I  should  ha'  had  con- 
sider'ble  more  means ;  not  but  what  I've  got  enough 
now,  but  more  is  handy,  ye  know.  Yes,  Almiry  hed 
faculty,  lots  on't ;  but  she  was  kinder  sharp,  had 
spells  on't.  So  she  bu'st  a  vessel  one  day  in  one  o' 
them  spells  ;  sort  of  tempery  she  was,  an'  it  ris  her 
blood  too  fur  ye  see,  and  she  dropped  like  a  stun. 
Yes,  I've  be'n  widdered  goin'  on  eight  months,  and 
I'm  some  lonesome,  I  tell  ye." 

Here  he  took  a  long  drink  at  his  glass  of  wine,  as  if 
to  recover  courage,  —  or  breath.  Miss  Tempy  sprung 
to  refill  it. 

"  Things  is  goin'  wrong  with  me  ye  see,  Tempy." 
(she  observed  he  had  left  out  the  formality  of  '  Miss ') 
"  I've  got  nobody  but  old  Sally  Steele  to  look  after 
me ;  it's  comin'  on  killin'  time  and  who'll  put  down 
my  pork  and  beef  as  Almiry  did  ?  I'm  gettin'  along 
in  years  too,  and  I  feel  to  say  a  loud  Amen  to  that 
Scripter  which  obsarves  '  It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be 


230  STEADFAST. 

alone.'  I  had  a  leadin' ;  yes,  a  powerful  leadin'  to 
come  over  to  Trumbull  for  to  hear  Priest  Hall's  tell 
about  this  here  Great  Awakenin' ;  but  the  minnit  I 
sot  eyes  on  you,  Tempy,  acrost  the  meetin'  house  I 
knowed  there  was  another  puppus  in  that  leadin'. 
I've  got  means,  and  I'll  give  ye  a  comfortable  home 
and  a  good  livin',  and  be  to  you  one  that'll  walk  toge 
ther  with  you  in  righteousness,  the  same  as  Isaac  and 
Rebecca,  if  so  you  feel  a  leadin'  to  answer  me  ac- 
cordin'  as  I  would  have  you  to  answer,"  and  the 
deacon  wiped  his  lips  with  one  corner  of  the  big  red 
handkerchief  in  which  he  had  dutifully  collected  the 
crumbs  of  the  seed  cake,  and  fixed  his  little  gray  eyes 
on  Tempy  with  the  intelligent  and  questioning  deter 
mination  of  that  maligned  animal,  the  pig,  when  it 
watches  the  apple  or  the  ear  of  corn  that  a  mischiev 
ous  hand  holds  a  little  out  of  reach. 

A  dark,  painful  flush  rose  among  and  over  Miss 
Tempy's  wrinkles.  "  Why  !  why !  "  she  stammered. 
"  Why,  I  hadn't  no  thought  of  such  a  thing,  Deacon 
Hopkins.  Dear  me  !  I  dono  what  to  say.  I'd  calker- 
lated  to  abide  as  I  was  'cordin'  to  Scripter  in  the 
mouth  of  the  Tostle  Poll." 

"  Marriage  is  honorable  in  all,"  answered  the  Dea 
con,  solemnly.  "  Poll  says,  '  accordin'  to  my  judg 
ment,'  in  the  place  you  kote ;  but  'tis  an  institootion 
of  God,  marryin'  is  ;  and  there  seems  to  be  a  clear 
leadin'  to  our'n,  Tempy.  Howsoever,  I  don't  want  to 
hurry  ye  none ;  marriage  is  -a  sollum  thing,  and  I 
wouldn't  hev  ye  to  do  it  in  haste  and  repent  at  leesure ; 


TEMPY'S  TURN.  231 

Fm  willin'  to  hev  ye  think  on't  a  spell,  same  as  I 
have.  I've  got  a  little  tradin'  in  critturs  to  do  over 
to  Niantic,  betwixt  meetin's,  and  I  calculate  that  will 
keep  me  here  a  hull  week  to  the  least.  'Tis  Thursday 
to-day ;  you  take  a  week  to  consider  on't,  and  Thurs 
day  week  I'll  come  back  and  see  how  'tis." 

"  W-e-11,"  said  Tempy,  almost  reluctantly. 

The  deacon  emptied  his  crumbs  neatly  back  on  to 
the  cake  plate,  set  down  his  glass,  after  draining  the 
last  drop,  lifted  his  beaver  hat  from  the  floor,  and 
with  a  frigid  "Good-day,"  stalked  out  of  the  front 
door  with  as  much  dignity  as  his  short  legs  would 
allow. 

Miss  Tempy  sat  down,  threw  her  checked  apron 
over  her  face,  and  first  laughed  and  then  cried. 

This  proposal  was  a  mere  matter  of  business  to 
Ammi  Hopkins ;  he  wanted  a  woman  to  keep  his 
house  in  order,  provide  the  savory  meat  his  soul  loved, 
and  prevent  waste  and  unthrif tiness  in  his  household  ; 
a  woman  who  would  have  no  wages  beside  her  needful 
food  and  clothing,  and  save  him  the  money  paid  out 
now  to  an  inefficient  helper.  He  had  his  eye  on  two 
or  three  other  women  if  Tempy  should  fail  him,  but 
he  had  selected  her  first  because  she  had  a  small  pit 
tance  of  her  own,  certainly  enough  to  clothe  her,  and 
pay  her  contributions  to  the  sparse  church  charities 
which  it  was  respectable  to  recognize. 

But  Tempy,  poor  Tempy !  was  a  woman.  In 
all  her  solitary  life  she  had  never  before  had  an  offer 
of  marriage,  and  it  came  to  her  like  a  shock ;  pleasant, 


232  STEADFAST. 

but  startling.  She  had  never  read  a  novel  in  her  life  ; 
nor  had  she  the  first  idea  of  that  over-mastering  and 
headlong  passion  called  love.  Diligent  as  her  life  had 
been,  full  of  little  pleasures  and  small  duties  which 
Esther  would  have  scorned  to  consider  as  either  pleas 
ures  or  duties,  and  Sybil  would  have  simply  passed 
by  as  trivial  incidents,  Miss  Tempy  had  yet  been 
happier  in  her  dull  round  than  either  of  these  heart- 
wrecked  young  girls ;  though  sometimes  it  had  been 
a  mortification  to  her,  as  it  is  to  every  woman  in  her 
position,  to  think  that  no  one  had  asked  her  in  mar 
riage,  or  even  approached  her  with  such  an  intention. 

But  now  her  crown  had  come. 

A  sagacious  but  cynical  old  gentleman  once  coun 
selled  a  "  seeking  "  widower,  in  this  wise  ;  "  Marry 
an  old  maid,  my  dear  fellow,  if  you're  resolved  to 
marry.  They're  so  grateful." 

And  the  cynic  showed  some  keenness  of  perception 
in  the  advice.  If  Tempy  had  once  tried  the  experi 
ment  of  marriage,  she  might  have  been  less  pleased 
and  more  cautious  in  this  sudden  prospect,  but  as  she 
sat  there,  in  the  darkness  of  her  check  apron,  she 
saw  a  vision  of  the  pleasant  old  farmhouse  at  Picker 
ing  Centre,  its  goodly  barns  ;  its  ample  garden,  stocked 
with  vegetables  and  herbs ;  its  orchards,  red  and 
golden  with  apples ;  the  flocks  of  fat  poultry ;  the 
herd  of  sleek  cows  ;  the  pair  of  dapple-grey  horses, 
that  would  carry  her  "  to  mill  and  to  meetin',"  and 
the  warm  respectable  shelter  such  a  house  and  home 
would  be  for  her  coming  age. 


233 


She  felt  heartily  grateful  for  the  deacon's  thought 
of  her,  a  lonely  spinster ;  and  she  thought  no  farther, 
—  at  least  not  yet ;  she  would  talk  with  Esther ;  she 
would  consult  Parson  Hall ;  she  would  think  and  pray 
about  this  all  the  week.  Honestly,  she  thought  the 
question  was  yet  to  decide  ;  the  answer  yet  in  her  own 
power;  she  had  never  even  heard  of  the  sneering 
French  axiom,  — 

"Chateau  qui  parle,  femme  qui  ecoute, 
Tous  deux  vont  se  rendre." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

COUNSEL. 

Ask,  and  ask,  and  spend  breath  o'  the  asking;  then  do  what 
thou  wiliest  in  the  end  thereof.  'Tis  a  woman's  way,  good  madam, 
ever  since  Eve  parleyed  with  the  devil. 

Miss  TEMPY  considered  it  her  duty  to  lay  this  mat 
ter  before  Parson  Hall  first,  in  his  quality  of  her  spirit 
ual  director ;  for  the  directorship  of  the  Papacy  was 
founded,  as  most  of  their  rites  are,  on  a  knowledge  of 
human  character,  and  human  tendencies,  and  it  is  and 
always  will  be  as  natural  for  a  woman  to  have  a  con 
fessor,  be  she  ever  so  Protestant,  as  for  a  bird  to  fly. 
There  is  not  the  smallest  country  parish  or  the  great 
est  city  congregation  where  the  average  woman  does 
not  tell  or  wish  to  tell  the  pastor  of  the  flock  to 
which  she  belongs,  her  troubles,  inward  or  outward ; 
if  she  dislikes  or  distrusts  him,  her  doctor  fills  the 
niche.  Blessed  is  that  woman  who  in  place  of  either, 
has  a  devoted  and  sensible  husband  to  shrive  and  ad 
vise  her  in  all  her  mistakes  and  perplexities ;  her 
true  and  lawful  confessor ;  the  real  priest  of  his  own 
household. 

But  then  there  are  so  many  widows  and  old  maids  : 
—  and  so  many  impatient  or  indifferent  husbands. 

Esther  was  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts 
to  notice  how  Miss  Tempy  blushed  and  fidgeted  that 


COUNSEL.  235 

night  at  the  tea-table,  and  how  silent  she  was.  In 
her  new  life,  full  of  bitter  penitence  and  trembling 
joy  ;  of  the  dawning  hope  that  her  sin  was  forgiven 
of  God,  and  the  shrinking  consciousness  that  it  was 
known  in  all  its  blackness  to  one  man,  —  Philip  Kent, 
Esther  was  unaware  that  she  was  selfish;  yet  she 
was  ;  the  "things  of  others  "  interested  her  no  more,- 
the  time  for  that  was  not  come.  Life  must  rend  and 
convulse  us  ;  shake  our  faith  in  ourselves  and  our 
trust  in  others ;  drive  us  to  the  roughest  coverts  with 
its  storms  of  woe  ;  and  shatter  the  tabernacle  of  the 
flesh  till  it  gives  up  its  mastery  over  the  spirit,  before 
we  know  or  act  on  the  divine  precept,  "  Love  thy 
neighbor  as  thyself." 

Miss  Tempy  felt  a  little  hurt  that  Esther  did  not 
even  ask  if  she  were  as  well  as  usual,  for  her  heart 
was  pining  for  sympathy ;  but  she  smothered  her 
sighs,  and  after  the  dishes  were  "  sided  away,"  betook 
herself  to  the  evening  meeting.  She  took  a  humble 
seat  just  inside  the  door,  not  from  any  impulse  of 
humility,  but  because  she  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Hall  as 
he  went  out ;  so  she  kept  her  place  till  the  discourse, 
the  prayers,  the  hymns  were  all  over,  and  the  pastor, 
after  the  fashion  of  those  days,  passed  out  before  any 
of  the  congregation  stirred.  Miss  Tempy  however, 
being  on  the  last  bench,  rose  up  and  followed  him  to 
the  porch. 

"  Can  I  speak  with  you  this  evening,  Parson  Hall  ?  " 
she  said,  in  a  timid  voice. 

"Surely    you    can,    Miss    Tempy,"   he    answered, 


236  STEADFAST. 

gravely  yet  pleasantly.  "  Will  it  suit  your  conven 
ience  to  come  to  my  study,  or  do  you  prefer  that  I 
should  accompany  you  to  your  home  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  alone,  Mr.  Hall ;  and  I 
can't  compass  that  to  my  house.  Easter  is  there." 

"  True,  true  ! "  said  the  parson,  as  if  he  had  not 
thought  of  that  before. 

He  was  an  honest  man,  he  would  not  lie,  but  there 
is  an  instinct  in  the  heart  of  man  or  woman,  that 
drives  to  subterfuge  in  the  interest  of  passion,  almost 
unconsciously.  Not  for  a  world  would  Mr.  Hall  have 
had  Miss  Tempy  know  that  he  had  hoped  she  would 
ask  him  to  her  house,  that  he  longed  to  see  Esther  in 
her  home,  to  clasp  her  hand,  and  look  into  her  beauti 
ful,  deep  eyes  ;  yet  he  did  not  formulate  the  thought 
to  himself. 

It  was  but  a  little  way  to  Mr.  Hall's  house,  and  his 
study  door  opened  from  the  left  hand  of  the  little 
entry-way  into  which  they  stepped  from  without ;  a 
dim  oil  lamp  was  burning  on  the  shelf,  and  a  great 
bow-pot  of  early  chrysanthemums,  "  artemishys  "  Aunt 
Euthy  called  them,  filled  the  chimney  with  their  yel 
low  disks,  and  the  air  with  their  bitter,  old-fashioned 
fragrance.  Miss  Tempy  sat  down  on  the  rush-bot 
tomed  settee,  and  plucking  at  her  bonnet-strings  with 
nervous  agitation,  burst  out  at  once.  "You  see,  Par 
son  Hall,  I  want  advisement.  I'm  in  a  quandary,  as 
you  may  say." 

Miss  Tempy's  face  grew  redder  and  redder,  even 
her  funny  upturned  nose  became  red  with  her  eager 


COUNSEL.  237 

embarrassment,  and  her  corkscrew  curls  seemed  to 
quiver  beside  the  bright  snapping  of  her  little  black 
eyes.  The  parson  smiled  kindly,  but  said  nothing. 
"  Well,  you  see  the  fact  on't  is,  Deacon  Hopkins  came 
down  from  Pickering  to  'tend  your  meetin's ;  he 
thought  he  had  a  leadin'  to  come ;  and  he  naterally 
called  to  see  me,  bein'  as  I  came  from  Pickering  down 
here,  and  knowed  him  well  before  I  moved.  But,  — 
well,  —  hm,  —  I,  —  that  is  "  —  Miss  Tempy  made  a 
vigorous  effort  to  swallow  her  confusion  here,  and 
wrung  her  old  linen  handkerchief  into  a  screw  from 
which  it  never  recovered,  being  frayed  and  worn 
with  the  assault ;  but  went  on  at  last  emphatically. 

"  Well !  he  finally  concluded,  when  he  see  me,  that 
the  leadin  had  been  tow'rds  marryin'  —  me.  I  dono 
as  'twas ;  I  don't  want  to  gainsay  it ;  maybe  'twas  ; 
but  /  hadn't  had  no  leadin  to  sech  a  matter  :  I  hadn't 
never  thought  on  't.  I  couldn't  say  amen  right  off, 
and  so  I  told  him.  He  agreed  thet  I  should  take  a 
week  to  think  on't,  and  to  counsel  with  my  friends. 
I  haven't  got  any  folks  to  ask  what  they  think  on't ; 
so,  'cording  as  he  said,  I  thought  to  ask  you.  Shall 
I  ?  or  shan't  I  ?  " 

Mr.  Hall  did  not  answer  at  once,  he  was  a  little 
appalled  at  the  question ;  in  his  straightforward, 
simple  heart  and  his  ignorance  of  feminine  human 
nature,  he  really  imagined  that  what  he  said  would 
decide  the  matter. 

He  looked  back  and  thought  of  his  life  with 
Rachel,  seeking  from  experience  the  knowledge  in- 


238  STEADRAST. 

stinct  denied  Mm  ;  it  was  as  if  one  walking  in  the 
night  should  look  upward  to  the  sad  and  high  stars 
for  guidance  to  his  stumbling  feet ;  his  life  with  her 
had  been  one  of  denial  and  sacrifice  ;  he  had  married 
her  from  a  pure  impulse  of  lofty  and  spiritual  feel 
ing  ;  a  love  that  had  in  it  no  stain  of  earthly  passion, 
and  therefore  was  unfit  for  the  needs  of  earth  and 
man ;  that  had  even  become  irksome  and  galling  at 
times,  as  he  confessed  to  himself  with  bitter  remorse 
when  she  had  at  last  left  him  alone.  There  was 
nothing  in  such  recollections  to  help  him  counsel 
Tempy. 

Then  he  thought  of  Esther,  whom  he  hoped  and 
meant  to  marry  ;  this  was  the  warm,  bright  hearth-fire 
that  comforts  a  man  when  he  comes  in  from  under 
the  stars,  and  fills  his  daily  life  with  charm  and  con 
tent,  even  when  its  first  blaze  of  passion  sinks  into 
the  smoulder  and  whisper  of  a  gentle  flame. 

This  did  not  fetch  him  near  Miss  Tempy  either  ;  he 
understood  Deacon  Hopkins's  position  perfectly ;  he 
knew  the  man,  and  he  knew  what  he  wanted ;  and, 
man  like,  Parson  Hall  ranked  Tempy  in  the  same 
category ;  he  considered  that  marriage  was  to  them 
both  a  cool,  considerate  bargain,  the  question  being 
whether  one  or  both  would  be  bettered  thereby,  either 
in  position  or  possessions. 

He  looked  askance  at  Miss  Tempy ;  could  he  sup 
pose  that  under  that  odd,  withered,  yet  pungent  as 
pect,  there  still  lived  any  sentiment  ?  any  warm  emo 
tion  ?  Never !  she  was  a  capable  elderly  female,  most 


COUNSEL.  239 

inauspicious  of  countenance  toward  anything  but 
hard  sense  and  honest  judgment ;  he  spoke  then. 

"  I  suppose  Deacon  Hopkins  is  a  man  of  some 
years,  Miss  Temperance  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  he  is  ;  I  expect  he's  five-and-sixty,  if  he's  a 
day  ;  but  I  ain't  young  myself." 

"  But  in  so  important  a  step  we  should  consider  the 
future.  You  may  have  the  care  of  an  aged  and  help 
less  man  on  your  hands,  my  friend,  when  you  your 
self  need  care." 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  Somebody'll  hev  to  take 
care  of  him ;  might  as  well  be  me  as  the  next  one  ; 
and  no  young  folks  know  how  to  nuss  old  ones.  I 
took  care  of  pa  for  ten  year  after  he  hed  shockanum 
palsy,  and  mother  was  bed-rid  fifteen  year ;  I'm  used 
to  sick  folks." 

"  But,  my  good  friend,  that  is  the  more  reason  why 
you  should  have  rest  in  your  declining  years.  Is  not 
your  home  now  comfortable  and  happy  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes  ;  but  I  haven't  no  assurance  'twill  last. 
Easter's  young,  and  reasonable  good  lookin' ;  what  if 
she  should  marry  ?  and  I  think  likely  she  will." 

A  sharp  thrill  of  dread  smote  the  minister  at  these 
words.  Tempy  went  on,  all  unconscious  of  their 
effect. 

"  And  I  a'n't  reelly  declining  not  yet ;  nor  likely 
to.  Our  folks  is  long  livers,  and  I'm  as  spry  as  most 
folks  be,  yet." 

"That  is  true,"  said  the  minister,  smiling,  "but 
Time  is  going  on,  Miss  Tempy,  and  his  steps  bear 


240  STEADFAST. 

hard  on  us  all.  I  take  it  Mr.  Hopkins  is  a  trusty  and 
well-to-do  man." 

This  was  merely  suggestive  and  complimentary  in 
Parson  Hall ;  truly,  he  was  at  a  loss  what  to  say  to  a 
woman  who  confuted  as  fast  as  he  could  offer  it  the 
advice  she  had  asked  him  to  give  her. 

"  Well,  he's  all  o'  that ;  he's  been  a  church  mem 
ber  in  good  an  reg'lar  standin'  sence  he  come  of  age ; 
he's  got  a  good  farm,  and  int'rust  money  besides,  and 
he's  hed  three  wives  theb  hevn't  never  faulted  him  as 
I  know  of  j  good  women  they  was  too  ;  but  he  ha'n't 
no  livin'  children,  which  is  a  blessiii'.  I  shouldn't 
ha'  give  a  second  thought  to't  ef  I'd  had  to  mother 
other  folkses  children  ;  tain't  a  thing  to  be  did,  to  my 
mind  ;  the'  ain't  no  livin'  woman  ekal  to  it.  But 
seein'  he  and  me  was  both  kind  of  lonesome,  it  did 
seem,  the  more  I  looked  on't,  to  be  a  leadin'  of  Prov 
idence  as  he  said.  It's  a  forlorn  thing,  after  all, 
Parson  Hall,  not  to  have  a  livin'  cretur  belongin' 
to  ye ;  nor  one  to  say  why  do  ye  so  whatever 
you  do  do  ;  leastways  'tis  so  for  a  woman  ;  beshoo- 
she  may." 

A  tear  that  glimmered  on  Miss  Tempy's  stubby 
black  eyelashes  enlightened  as  well  as  surprised  the 
parson. 

"  My  dear  good  woman,"  he  said,  warmly.  "  It  is 
the  best  indication  that  God  is  leading  you  that  he 
inclineth  your  heart  to  do  this  thing ;  and  I  can  per 
ceive  that  it  is  so  inclined.  I  trust  you  may  be  a 
helpmeet  indeed  to  Deacon  Hopkins,  and  I  think  he 


COUNSEL.  241 

will  be  a  most  fortunate  man  in  that  you  do  not  say 
him  nay ! " 

Miss  Tempy  beamed  with  delight  as  she  shook 
hands  with  the  parson  for  good-by  and  tripped  out  of 
the  door.  It  is  so  charming  to  be  advised  to  do  that 
which  we  want  to  ;  so  cheerless  to  go  out  on  a  venture 
of  our  own  good  will,  but  that  of  no  other. 

It  was  still  hard  to  tell  Esther,  but  she  did  not  do 
it  as  a  seeker  for  advice ;  as  the  two  sat  by  the  win 
dow  in  the  warm  October  twilight  next  day,  waiting 
for  the  church  bell  to  ring,  Miss  Tempy  took  heart  of 
grace  and  told  Esther  that  she  meant  to  marry  Deacon 
Hopkins. 

"Oh,"  said  Esther,  "why,  Aunt  Tempy  !  I  wonder 
at  you.  When  did  all  this  come  about  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  come  as  it  come ;  the  Lord  sendin'  it  I 
expect,  Easter.  'Tis  an  amazin'  thing  that  Deacon 
Hopkins  should  have  took  thought  of  me.  I  coun 
selled  with  Parson  Hall,  and  he  favored  it.  It  hain't 
but  one  thwart  to't,  and  that  is  the  idee  of  leavin'  you. 
But,  as  I  told  Parson,  you're  young  and  good-lookin' 
and  pretty-behaved,  and  its  more'n  likely  you'd  leave 
me  some  early  day.  so  havin'  a  chance,  it  behooved  me 
to  jump  at  it.  I  shall  hev  a  good  home,  and  some 
body  to  look  after  me,  somebody  that's  got  to,  whether 
or  no ;  so  I  shan't  feel  beholden  to  folks  that  ain't  my 
folks,  if  I  should  live  to  be  old  and  bed-rid." 

Esther  had  no  more  to  say ;  her  heart  sank  at  the 
prospect  of  this  little  home  to  which  she  was  just 
growing  attached,  its  kindly  shelter,  and  safe  peace, 


242  STEADFAST. 

all  to  be  swept  away ;  but  she  would  not  mar  Aunt 
Tempy's  outlook  with  a  suggestion  of  her  own  loneli 
ness.  She  might  maintain  a  servant,  for  her  school 
increased  each  season,  but  she  needed  for  a  home,  some 
friend,  some  companion ;  she  felt  lost  and  bewildered. 

Safe  in  her  faith  that  Esther  would  marry,  Miss 
Tempy  had  no  upbraidings  of  conscience  about  leav 
ing  her;  and  when  on  that  fateful  Thursday  week 
Deacon  Animi  appeared,  punctual  to  the  hour,  in  her 
small  parlor,  and  said  in  a  pompous  and  official  sort 
of  tone  to  the  blushing  old  spinster,  — 

"  Well,  Tempy,  have  you  pondered  on  the  matter  to 
be  considered  ?  and  are  you  free  to  acknowledge  'tis 
the  leadin'  and  will  of  the  Lord  ?  " 

"I  be,"  said  Tempy,  modestly  but  promptly,  "the 
will  of  the  Lord  be  done." 

Deacon  Hopkins  having  so  settled  the  matter,  was 
much  in  earnest  to  have  his  bargain  fulfilled;  "kil- 
lin'-time  "  would  come  in  November,  or  early  in  the 
next  month,  and  if  ever  a  man  needed  a  capable, 
thrifty  wife,  it  was  when  salting  down,  and  trying 
out,  hams,  flitches,  scraps,  sausages,  head-cheese,  and 
souse,  were  the  matters  in  hand ;  so  Tempy's  small 
preparations  were  hurried;  her  linen  taken  in  hand; 
her  gowns  and  petticoats  re-fashioned;  her  winter 
bonnet,  a  goodly  poke  of  grey  beaver,  pressed  and 
new-trimmed ;  and  store  of  towels  of  her  own  spin 
ning  and  weaving  brought  from  a  great  chest  in  the 
garret  and  "bleached  up  "  from  the  yellowness  of  long 
lying ;  so  about  the  third  week  in  November,  Parson 


COUNSEL.  243 

Dyer  came  down  from  Pickering  for  the  ceremony  on 
liis  Narragansett  pacer,  companied  by  Deacon  Hop 
kins  in  his  one-horse  shay.  Miss  Tempy  apologized 
to  Parson  Hall  for  importing  the  Pickering  minister 
for  this  office,  when  naturally  she  would  have  had  her 
own  clergyman. 

"You  see,  Parson  Hall,  I  j'ined  meetin'  under  his 
ministry,  but  I  shouldn't  have  made  no  pi'nt  of  that 
as  I  know  of,  only  he's  always  married  Deacon  Hop 
kins,  and  I  thought  he'd  feel  kind  of  strange  if  any 
body  else  done  it  this  time." 

The  apology  was  irresistible ;  so  in  due  season 
Miss  Tempy,  arrayed  in  a  gown  of  gray  paduasoy,  with 
frills  and  pinners  of  pillow  lace,  her  hair  rolled  over 
a  high  cushion,  a  string  of  gold  beads  round  her  neck, 
and  black  lace  mitts  on  her  skinny  hands,  was  united 
to  Ammi  Hopkins  in  the  little  parlor  where  he  pro 
posed  to  her ;  and  after  a  decent  refection  of  loaf -cake 
and  hot  flip,  she  took  her  place  in  the  one  horse  shay 
beside  the  Deacon,  her  coat  of  blue  camlet  and  the 
poke  bonnet  of  beaver  only  half  concealing  the  smiles 
and  airs  of  the  venerable  bride. 

It  had  added  the  last  touch  to  this  quaint  wedding, 
that  as  soon  as  the  brief  ceremony  was  over,  the  Dea 
con  turned  round  to  Tempy  and  remarked  with  pom 
pous  deliberation,  — 

"  See  what  a  change  !  Five  minutes  ago  you  was 
nothin'  but  an  old  maid  ;  now  you  are  the  honored 
wife  of  Deacon  Ammi  Hopkins,  Pickerin'  Centre." 

Parson  Hall  took  his  brother  minister  off  to  dinner ; 


244  STEADFAST. 

and  apologized  to  him  for  Esther's  want  of  hospitality 
by  explaining  that  her  school-hours,  and  her  solitary 
condition  now  Tempy  was  gone,  both  prevented  her 
from  entertaining  company. 

"  Doth  Esther  Dennis  teach  a  dame-school  ?  "  in 
quired  Parson  Dyer  in  surprise. 

"  She  has  to  do  something  for  her  support,"  an 
swered  Mr.  Hall,  "  and  this  seemed  the  most  available 
way  so  to  do." 

"But  with  all  her  property  it  seemeth  she  must 
have  a  frugal  mind  to  labor  so,"  went  on  Parson 
Dyer. 

"But  she  has  no  property,  brother." 

"Where,  then,  is  the  estate  of  Joshua  Dyer,  my 
cousin  ?  I  was  in  these  parts  shortly  before  he  died, 
and  he  told  me  then,  concerning  his  will,  that  he  had 
left  a  goodly  portion  of  his  means  to  Esther  Dennis  ; 
both  from  good  will  and  affection  to  her,  and  from  an 
assurance  he  had  that  she  was  well-disposed  toward 
Philip  Kent,  to  whom  he  had  left  the  lesser  moiety  of 
his  goods ;  not  thinking  it  seemly,  he  said,  that  a 
man  should  owe  everything  unto  his  wife.  I  well 
remember  the  will,  brother  Hall,  and  it  was  recalled 
to  me  to-day,  in  that  he  also  left,  as  he  told  me,  five 
hundred  pounds  to  Miss  Temperance  Tucker;  and  I 
considered  it  likely  Deacon  Hopkins  had  an  eye  to 
that  comfortable  heritage  when  he  selected  the  pert 
little  spinster." 

"  That  will  was  never  found,  Brother  Dyer.  Philip 
Kent  inherited  all,  save  a  small  sum  left  to  Esther's 


COUNSEL.  245 

mother,  under  an  old  will,  made  at  Mrs.  Dyer's 
decease." 

"Sho!  sho!"  burst  out  Parson  Dyer.  "There  is 
some  iniquity  to  do  somewhere.  I  was  not  at  the 
funeral,  being  laid  up  with  a  fever  for  ten  weeks,  and 
thereafter  sent  to  travel  by  sea  for  my  great  weak 
ness  ;  but  I  never  heard  more  of  the  matter,  and  fan 
cied  it  all  as  he  told  me.  It  is  bad,  bad." 

"And  beyond  man's  remedy  now,"  sighed  Parson 
Hall. 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  must  lie  as  it  is,  I  suppose.  Poor 
girl,  poor  girl !  " 

Parson  Hall  added  a  silent  echo  to  the  kind  old 
man's  exclamation ;  but  he  had  only  been  confirmed 
in  his  own  suspicions.  He  had  always  doubted  the 
intent  of  that  later  will,  and  believed  Esther  wronged 
in  its  loss.  Little  did  he  imagine  that  Esther  herself 
had  wrought  with  her  own  hand  this  evil  of  her  con 
dition. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

FINALITY 

Unto  all  things  that  be  cometh  an  end  at  the  last ;  yea,  even 
unto  this  small  round  world.  Alas!  that  there  should  be  so  much 
beginning. 

SHORTLY  after  Miss  Tempy's  wedding,  there  came 
to  Sybil  an  unexpected  access  of  fortune.  An  Eng 
lish  relative  of  her  father  suddenly  lost  both  his  sons, 
and,  being  old  himself,  died  of  the  shock,  and  his 
large  estates  devolved  upon  Mr.  SaltonstalPs  heirs ; 
represented  solely  by  this  young  girl,  the  only  next 
of  kin.  There  had  been  a  time  when  Sybil  would 
have  been  glad  to  be  rich  ;  her  natural  pride,  and 
love  of  power,  would  once  have  fed  eagerly  on  those 
worldly  advantages;  but  to  her  scathed  and  lonely 
soul  they  were  now  but  ashes  and  dust.  John  Stone- 
bridge,  however,  held  such  things  in  more  respect, 
and  hearing  of  this  legacy,  bethought  himself  to 
make  one  more  effort  to  melt  Sybil's  hard  heart.  He 
had  a  sufficient  property  of  his  own  to  meet  all  his 
real  necessities,  and  provide  for  him  many  of  the 
luxuries  of  life ;  but  when  a  man  gambles,  and  ca 
rouses,  and  dissipates  his  money  as  well  as  his  health 
and  his  character,  continuously,  it  takes  a  very  con 
siderable  fortune  to  feed  all  these  outlets.  He  was 
already  deep  in  the  books  of  a  certain  usurious  Dutch 

246 


FINALITY.  247 

money-lender  in  New  York,  and  a  great  fortune  would 
be  a  good  thing  for  him. 

It  is  true  he  might  have  achieved  a  wealthy  mar 
riage  more  than  once,  had  he  so  chosen ;  for  his  hand 
some  person,  his  fine  manners,  his  keen  wit,  and  his 
prestige  as  an  officer  in  the  army  won  for  him  much 
admiration  among  the  colonial  belles  of  the  day ;  but 
bad  as  John  Stonebridge  was,  his  heart  still  clung 
to  Sybil  Saltonstall.  It  is  hard  for  a  woman  to  real 
ize  that  a  man  can  deeply  love  her  yet  be  absorbed  in 
a  thousand  other  things  all  the  time ;  even  be  tempo 
rarily  unfaithful  to  her,  yet  hold  her  image  dearer 
and  deeper  in  his  soul  than  any  other  thing ;  but  it  is 
sometimes  so.  Colonel  Stonebridge  had  more  than 
once  resolved  to  defy  the  power  of  this  cold,  proud 
girl  over  his  life  and  happiness,  but  it  was  stronger 
than  his  will. 

At  the  idea  that  there  was  now  a  reason  of  worldly 
wisdom,  a  valid  excuse  for  once  more  tempting  his 
fate,  the  old  slumbering  passion  awoke  in  fresh 
strength  and  swept  him  to  her  feet. 

Sybil  would  have  refused  to  see  him,  but  the  ser 
vant  who  admitted  him  was  a  new  comer  and  garbled 
his  name ;  he  was  shown  into  the  familiar  withdraw 
ing  room,  and  stood  looking  out  on  the  wintry  sea, 
grey,  cold,  and  foaming  under  the  rush  of  the  north 
west  wind,  when  a  slight  rustle  roused  him  from  his 
revery  ;  he  turned  and  faced  Sybil. 

She  stood  motionless  as  some  pale  pillar  in  a  dim- 
lit  church ;  the  white  gown  garnished  with  black  rib- 


STEADFAST. 

bons  <  which  she  wore  in  honor  of  her  dead  yet 
unknown  relative,  made  no  contrast  with  her  paler 
face,  her  very  hair  had  faded  from  its  natural  glitter, 
and  hung  limp  and  dull  in  loose  ringlets  over  her 
shoulders  ;  her  dress,  in  the  phrase  of  the  day,  was  a 
dimity  "  negligee  ";  negligee  indeed  was  the  wearer's 
aspect. 

"Sybil!"  hoarsely  cried  John  Stonebridge,  "I 
have  sworn  to  live  without  you,  never  again  to 
tempt  your  scorn ;  but  my  love  has  prevailed  against 
vow  and  oath.  I  have  come  again.  I  could  not  for 
bear.  Sybil,  have  you  not  one  kind,  one  hopeful 
word  for  me  ?  Will  you  ever  find  another  heart  that 
adores  you  like  mine  ?  Can  you  refuse  me  again  ?  " 

She  raised  one  hand  as  if  deprecating  any  such 
wild  language,  and  looked  at  him  like  one  who  gazes 
from  a  mountain  peak  at  some  far  distance  invisible 
to  the  watcher  below. 

"  Never  ! "  she  said,  in  a  low,  strange  voice.  "  I 
have  no  hope,  no  thought  to  give  you,  John  Stone- 
bridge.'7 

"  Never  ?  "  he  echoed,  "  why  is  it  never  ?  I  swear 
you  loved  me  once,  Sybil ;  cold  as  you  are,  I  believe 
you  once  held  me  in  your  heart." 

It  was  an  instinctive  appeal ;  he  scarce  believed 
what  he  said  in  his  own  mad  anxiety. 

"  If  ever  I  did,"  she  answered,  in  the  same  low,  dis 
tant  tone,  "  I  shall  never  do  so  more.  There  is  one 
who  will  forever  stand  between  us,  and  fix  there  a 
great  gulf  over  which  can  no  man  pass," 


FINALITY.  249 

"  Who  the  devil  dare  cross  my  path  like  that  ?  "  he 
answered,  wild  with  passion. 

She  looked  straight  at  him ;  her  voice  was  like  a 
knell.  "  Arbell ! "  was  all  she  said. 

Furious  words  rose  to  his  lips,  but  he  could  not 
utter  them ;  he  would  have  replied  to  any  other 
woman  with  a  scoff  at  her  use  of  such  a  weapon,  but 
the  awful  lustre  of  those  sad  eyes,  clear  as  the  ice 
that  seals  some  crystal  spring  that,  still  pellucid,  has 
lost  its  living  sparkle  ;  the  pallor  of  her  wasted  cheek  ; 
the  pathos  of  her  wan  lips  half  parted  over  the  shin 
ing  teeth  as  if  she  could  hardly  breathe ;  the  sense  of 
that  angelically  severe  purity  which  penetrated  her 
voice  and  her  look  like  a  diviner  atmosphere  than  he 
had  ever  dreamed  of  silenced  him.  For  once  in  his 
life,  John  Stonebridge  felt  a  pang  of  shame,  and  it 
stung  him  like  a  whiplash ;  he  dropped  his  head  on 
his  breast,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  It  was  a 
dumb  confession. 

When  he  lifted  his  face,  Sybil  was  gone ;  never 
again,  in  life  or  death,  did  they  meet ;  and  both  of 
them  knew  their  parting  was  final. 

Esther,  meanwhile,  went  on  her  solitary  way  as 
best  she  could.  She  established  a  decent  middle- 
aged  black  woman  in  her  kitchen,  who  went  to  her 
own  home  after  her  daily  service  was  done,  and  left 
behind  her  that  terrible  and  oppressive  solitude  that 
only  a  woman  can  comprehend.  Yet  not  all  women 
comprehend  it;  there  are  many  who  live  out  their 
lives  in  such  loneliness  and  do  not  suffer  from  its  ter- 


250  STEADFAST. 

rors  ;  but  Esther  was  nervous,  imaginative,  and  heart- 
lonely  ;  to  her,  the  solitude  had  its  own  dreadful 
voices ;  its  evening  apprehensions ;  its  dumb,  mid 
night  oppression. 

She  began  to  feel  in  another  sense  than  it  is  used  in 
Scripture,  yet  no  less  true,  that  "it  is  not  good  for 
man  to  be  alone."  Her  meals,  frugal  and  scanty, 
went  off  the  little  table  uneaten,  sleep  ceased  to  re 
fresh  her,  it  was  so  broken  and  so  brief.  She  had 
been  many  a  time  annoyed  by  Miss  Tempy's  little 
notions,  her  fuss  about  nothing,  her  incessant  flow  of 
talk,  quaint  and  piquant  as  it  was  ;  but  now  she  would 
have  given  anything  to  see  again  that  round  cheery 
face  opposite  her  at  table ;  she  was  absolutely  home 
sick  for  her  companionship.  Sybil  did  what  she 
could  to  cheer  her  friend,  but  Sybil  herself  after  her 
final  interview  with  Colonel  Stonebridge  had  fallen 
into  a  state  of  languor  and  melancholy  that  made  her 
cheerfulness  forced  and  unnatural ;  so  that  Esther 
was  even  more  dispirited  after  their  interviews  than 
before ;  for  she  knew  John  Stonebridge  had  been  in 
Trumbull,  —  had  come  and  gone  in  the  same  day  ;  and 
from  her  own  experience  she  interpreted  her  friend's 
melancholy,  and  made  shrewd  guess  at  its  cause. 
When,  in  the  course  of  the  winter,  advices  from  Eng 
land  made  it  needful  that  Sybil  should  go  over  to  see 
to  some  affairs  concerning  her  inheritance  that  could 
not  be  transacted  without  her  personal  presence,  she 
begged  Esther  to  give  up  her  school  and  accompany 
her.  Governor  Stanley  was  to  escort  his  niece,  and 


FINALITY.  251 

Sybil  would  much  rather  take  with  her  a  friend  and 
companion  than  go  alone  with  her  uncle,  a  taciturn 
and  self-absorbed  sort  of  man.  But  to  Esther,  inland 
born  and  bred,  a  sea-voyage  had  unspeaka-ble  terrors  ; 
not  even  her  love  for  Sybil  could  tempt  her  to  under 
take  a  voyage  of  six  weeks  across  that  treacherous 
tumbling  water  which  was  to  her  mind  the  very  sea 
of  death. 

Nor  could  she,  either,  have  left  her  little  school 
with  a  clear  conscience,  since  in  so  short  a  time  as  she 
would  have  for  preparation  there  could  be  no  one 
found  to  take  her  place  ;  so  she  made  this  her  excuse. 
But  to  Sybil  the  sea  had  no  terrors  ;  she  had  always 
lived  beside  it  and  loved  it,  and  even  to  her  well-dis 
ciplined  soul  it  was  pleasant  to  think  she  could  at 
least  escape  the  scenes  of  her  life's  worst  anguish, 
the  place  so  crowded  with  painful  associations.  She 
was  obliged  to  drive  out  to  Hillside  Farm  on  an 
errand  for  her  Aunt  Stanley  one  day  before  she  left, 
and,  as  she  entered  the  door  of  the  keeping-room 
there  was  Arbell's  child  sprawling,  in  the  delight  of 
its  freedom  from  crib  and  go-cart,  on  a  comfortable 
Delia  had  spread  across  the  floor.  A  pang  shot 
through  Sybil's  heart  as  the  bold,  beautiful  infant 
looked  up  and  laughed  in  her  face ;  there  were  John 
Stonebridge's  dark  splendid  eyes  ;  mobile  and  expres 
sive  lips ;  the  very  dimple  that  cleft  his  imperious 
and  determined  chin.  A  pang  of  disgust  and  repul 
sion  made  Sybil  shudder ;  and  Delia,  with  feminine 
acuteness  called  a  woman  who  was  at  work  in  the 
kitchen  to  take  the  child  away. 


252  STEADFAST. 

Women  are  curious  anomalies ;  some  among  them 
would  have  gathered  the  fatherless  baby  into  their 
tender  arms,  and  ignored  its  unconscious  sin  against 
them  j  but  Sybil  was  not  of  that  mould ;  she  did  her 
errand ;  bade  Delia  and  Hiram  a  kindly  and  stately 
farewell,  and  ordered  Moses,  the  Stanley  coachman, 
to  speed  his  horses  as  fast  as  might  be  safely  done, 
for  she  must  hasten  home. 

When  at  last  the  Stanleys  sailed,  Esther  felt  her 
desolation  settle  down  about  her  like  a  cloud  j  it  was 
with  a  sense  of  relief  and  gratitude  that  she  opened 
her  door  one  cold  February  evening  to  admit  Parson 
Hall,  who  hung  his  furred  cloak  and  cap  upon  the 
high  nails  in  the  entry  wainscot,  and  coming  in  smil 
ing,  sat  down  before  the  fire  in  the  big  chair  which 
Esther  placed  for  him.  A  quiet,  friendly  talk  ensued ; 
a  discussion  of  the  church  and  its  prospects,  and 
queries  concerning  the  school  and  its  success ;  then 
in  a  natural  way  Parson  Hall  asked  Esther  if  she 
missed  Miss  Tempy. 

There  was  a  suspicious  glitter  in  her  eyes  as  she 
answered,  "  I  do,  truly.  I  have  much  solitary  time, 
and  lacking  her  cheerful  countenance  it  is  lonely  in 
deed." 

"  And  Miss  Saltonstall  hath  deserted  us  also." 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  last  blow.  I  sometimes  think 
there  is  not  another  woman  so  utterly  lonesome  and 
set  apart  as  I  am." 

"  There  is  another  man,  Esther,  who  hath  endured 
the  like  experience.  Think  you  not  that  my  hearth 


FINALITY.  258 

is  also  cheerless  ;  and  my  home  lacking  smiles  and 
company  ?  " 

Esther  looked  up  at  him  with  tender  sympathy  in 
her  eyes ;  the  parson's  lips  quivered,  his  voice  was 
broken  and  tremulous  as  he  reached  his  hand  across 
and  grasped  hers,  though  his  speech  was  manly  and 
straightforward,  and  full  of  simple  dignity. 

"Esther,  my  friend.  I  have  come  in  hither  this 
evening  of  set  purpose  to  ask  you  to  come  and  be  my 
partner,  my  friend,  my  beloved  wife  j  to  share  my 
home  and  put  away  its  loneliness ;  and  to  find  rest 
and  companionship  in  my  true  affection.  Will  you, 
my  dear  ?  " 

Esther  trembled,  her  hand  quivered  in  his  like 
some  fledgeling  bird  in  the  grasp  of  a  schoolboy  ;  she 
was  surprised,  frightened,  agitated  beyond  self-con 
trol  ;  the  woman's  refuge  came  to  her,  she  burst  into 
tears. 

Parson  Hall  was  moved  and  pained.  "Dear 
Esther,"  he  said,  gently,  "  I  meant  not  to  startle  you ; 
I  thought  it  might  be  you  had  read  my  countenance 
somewhat,  and  were  aware  of  the  way  my  heart  hath 
tended  for  a  considerable  season." 

"I  —  I  never  thought  of  it,"  sobbed  Esther. 

"  Think  of  it  now  then,  dearest  girl.  I  would  not 
have  you  hasty  in  decision  even  to  relieve  my  great  sus 
pense.  I  have  held  you  in  respect  and  affection  a  long 
while,  Esther.  I  have  delayed  seeking  my  heart's  de 
sire  until  it  seemed  to  me  you  needed  solace,  and  affec 
tion  enough  to  consider  this  matter.  I  am  older  than 


254  STEADFAST. 

I  should  be,  my  friend,  to  mate  with  a  young  maiden, 
perchance  ;  but  my  heart  is  young  and  beats  still  with 
warmth  and  keen  emotion.  But  consider  of  it ;  it  is 
all  I  ask.  I  could  serve  for  thee  seven  years,  my  be 
loved,  even  as  Jacob  served  for  Eachel,  if  so  I  were 
sure  of  thee  at  the  last." 

Esther  wiped  her  dim  eyes,  and  looked  shyly  at  the 
parson. 

"  I  cannot  think  it !  "  she  said,  naively.  "  Oh,  sir  ! 
I  am.  noway  good  enough  for  you." 

The  parson  could  not  repress  a  smile,  but  it  was 
very  gentle,  as  he  answered.  "  Dear  Esther ;  it  is  not 
thy  province  to  judge  of  that.  Verily,  there  is  none 
good,  no  not  one,  the  Scripture  saith ;  but  it  is  not 
mere  goodness  the  human  heart  asks  of  its  fellow ; 
it  is  love,  sympathy,  care,  comradeship,  that  a  man 
craves  from  his  wife.  Can  you  give  none  of  these  for 
my  asking  ?  " 

Esther's  heart  sank ;  well  she  knew  that  no  other 
man  would  ever  awaken  in  her  breast  the  keen  absorb 
ing  passion  she  had  given  to  Philip  Kent ;  it  was  a 
bitter  recollection  in  this  hour ;  she  remembered  too, 
how  lost  to  all  other  earthly  things  she  had  been  in 
the  new  delight  she  found  in  his  love  ;  nothing  like 
this  filled  her  soul  now ;  no  rush  of  overmastering 
emotion  ;  she  was  surprised,  grieved,  humiliated  to 
know  herself  so  all  unworthy  and  irresponsive  when 
a  man  so  saintly,  so  noble,  so  far  above  her,  asked  for 
her  heart.  Confused  and  distressed  beyond  expres 
sion,  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  clasping  her  hands  in  a 


FINALITY.  255 

gesture  that  was  half  an  effort  at  calmness,  half  en 
treaty,  she  said, — 

"Oh,  I  cannot,  cannot  tell !  I  am  not  in  my  right 
mind,  I  think.  I  can't  believe  it.  Will  you  —  will 
you  leave  me  for  a  little  ?  I  am  confused.  I  cannot 
think." 

The  parson  was  a  gentleman  in  the  noblest  sense  ; 
he  rose  directly. 

"I  will  leave  you,  my  friend  Esther.  I  have 
been  over  hasty  with  you.  Farewell,  my  dear; 
when  you  will  send  me  a  word  of  welcome  I 
will  come  again.  But  hasten  not,  Esther;  ponder 
well  on  the  matter ;  it  is  for  life,  death,  and  I  trust 
Eternity." 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  with  such  pitiful  trust 
ful  eyes,  such  an  honest  and  pure  desire  to  do  the 
right  evident  in  their  expression,  that  a  sudden 
change,  almost  a  spasm  of  emotion  passed  over  the 
parson's  face.  With  all  the  strength  of  his  nature  he 
longed  to  fold  her  in  his  arms,  and  kiss  away  the 
tears  that  bedewed  her  blushing  face,  for  he  loved  her 
as  he  had  never  loved  before,  with  all  the  might  and 
passion  of  a  man's  nature  ;  but  his  self-control  was 
greater  even  than  his  nature  ;  like  a  giant  it  con 
strained  love  and  longing  to  hide  their  heads  and 
bide  another  day  ;  he  did  not  even  clasp  the  little 
hand  that  was  half  offered  to  him  ;  he  only  said, 
"  Good-by,  Esther.  God  be  with  you/'  and  as  the 
door  closed  behind  him  she  flung  herself  down  on  the 


256  STEADFAST. 

sofa,  and  a  tempest  of  tears  put  an  end  to  thought  or 
consideration  for  one  while.  • 

When  it  was  over,  Esther  took  up  her  candle, 
raked  up  the  fire,  and  went  up  to  her  bed.  Was 
it  to  sleep  ? 


• 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 

A    CONFLICT. 

Shall  I  then  end  this  life 
Of  solitude  and  strife 

And  live  a  happy  lie? 
Or  leave  my  love  alone : 

Go  make  a  wordless  moan 
Lay  down  my  head  and  die  ? 

No,  there  was  no  sleep  for  Esther  that  night. 
Her  bed  gave  her  no  rest ;  she  sat  up  in  the  darkness 
and  held  her  cold  hands  to  her  burning  forehead. 
She  had  to  face  her  life  as  never  before ;  the  past, 
which  she  had  thought  concerned  herself  alone, 
turned  and  rent  her  now ;  for  it  was  not  her  own 
any  longer ;  it  was  a  matter  of  deep  concern  to  Parson 
Hall.  She  had  never  felt  more  lonely.  Philip  and 
she  were  separated  forever,  not  merely  by  the  sepa 
rations  of  time  and  space  but  by  that  all-powerful 
barrier,  the  knowledge  on  her  part  that  she  had  not 
loved  him,  but  instead  loved  an  ideal  and  called  it  by 
his  name. 

She  had  begun  to  see  in  this  past  year  how  utterly 
selfish  he  was.  and  to  feel  as  a  modern  writer  puts  it 
that  "Selfishness  is  the  fault  most  impossible  to 
forgive  or  excuse,  since  it  springs  neither  from  an 
error  of  judgment  nor  the  exaggeration  of  a  generous 
motive  ...  it  is  the  result  of  a  cold-blooded,  self- 
257 


258  STEADFAST. 

concentrated  system  of  calculation,  which  narrows 
the  sympathies  and  degenerates  the  mental  powers." 

Nor  had  Esther  even  that  fellow-feeling  for  the 
fault  that  makes  us  all  "wondrous  kind"  in  excuse 
and  forgiveness.  Unselfish  and  devoted  herself,  she 
could  not  understand  how  another  could  be  so  utterly 
regardless  of  her  and  her  wounded  heart  as  Philip 
showed  himself.  Her  impulse  now  was  to  put  a 
barrier  between  them  that  he  would  not  dare  to  pass 
over  in  order  again  to  make  her  the  amusement  of  his 
idle  hours,  or  the  too-ready  consolation  for  his  com 
fortless  home  life. 

She  felt  that  Parson  Hall's  wife  would  be  safe 
from  any  such  intrusions  ;  and  safe  even  if  the  traitor 
ous  heart  within  her  desired  once  again  to  capitulate. 

She  longed  to  be  protected  against  herself,  for 
while  her  reason  told  her  all  this  hard  truth  concern 
ing  Philip  Kent,  her  weak  soul  knew  that  his  look, 
his  touch,  his  smile,  had  still  power  to  thrill  her  to 
her  heart's  core. 

But  then  another  aspect  of  the  case  stared  her  in 
the  face ;  Parson  Hall  was  honored,  respected,  be 
loved,  by  every  person  in  Trumbull ;  had  she,  a  thief, 
any  right  to  link  her  stained  life  to  his  ? 

However  firmly  and  gratefully  she  believed  that 
God  had  washed  out  her  sin  by  the  free  grace  of 
redemption,  she  knew  that  toward  man  her  fault  still 
wore  its  blackest  aspect.  She  felt  that  she  had 
robbed  the  parish  of  a  newer  and  more  ample  place 
of  worship,  simply  to  aggrandize,  Philip  Kent ;  and 


A    CONFLICT.  259 

how  could  she,  a  sinner,  so  deliberate  and  dreadful, 
marry  a  saint  like  Parson  Hall  ? 

If  she  could  only  tell  him !  but,  alas  !  the  secret 
was  not  her  own ;  it  would  be  betraying  Philip ; 
which  she  had  no  right  to  do,  to  save  herself;  no, 
not  to  save,  but  to  set  her  soul  free  toward  this  other 
man.  For  Esther  felt  sure  that  Parson  Hall  would 
regard  her  only  with  profoundest  scorn  if  he  knew 
how  she  had  fallen. 

Yet  again  the  other  side  of  this  question  confronted 
her ;  here  she  was,  lonely,  helpless,  poor ;  life  lying 
before  her  as  a  barren  desert,  a  long,  weary  journey, 
which  she  had  no  right  to  shorten.  She  was  natu 
rally  indolent,  and  the  idea  of  working  all  her  life 
was  intolerable  to  her ;  though  she  did  not  know  it, 
she  had  been  physically  weakened  by  the  sad  and 
tragic  experiences  of  the  past  few  years ;  her  weary 
body  tired  the  over-worn  soul;  the  prospect  of  a 
home,  of  care,  of  faithful  tenderness,  tempted  her; 
but  to  be  a  living  lie  all  her  life  seemed  to  her  horri 
ble. 

That  it  was  a  sin  to  marry  without  absorbing  love 
for  the  man  one  married,  had  not  occurred  to  her ; 
she  was  both  innocent  and  ignorant,  and  in  all  the 
world  there  was  not  a  creature  to  whom  she  could  go 
for  advice  ;  Sybil  was  out  of  reach  ;  Esther  was  that 
loneliest  of  all  human  creatures,  a  motherless,  friend 
less  young  girl. 

At  last  the  sophistry  of  weakness  and  inclination 
got  the  better  of  her ;  she  said  to  herself. 


260  STEADFAST. 

"  If  I  never  tell  Parson  Hall,  Philip  never  will ;  he 
dare  not  for  his  own  sake ;  I  shall  have  a  home  where 
I  belong,  a  good,  kind  man  to  take  care  of  me.  If  he 
never  knows  how  wicked  I  have  been,  what  harm  is 
it  ?  I  will  be  good  now.  I  will  not  think  of  what  is 
gone.  I  will  marry  Mr.  Hall." 

Poor  Esther !  as  she  rose  wearily  from  her  bed 
at  sunrise,  set  on  this  resolution,  she  forgot,  nay ! 
she  knew  not  at  all  what  lay  before  her,  a  life 
of  deception  and  terror ;  the  haunting  of  that  black 
est  of  all  black  cares,  an  evil  secret.  Poor,  poor 
Esther ! 

All  day  she  went  languidly  about  her  work,  many 
a  misspelled  word  was  all  unnoticed,  many  a  whisper, 
pout,  mistake  in  geography,  or  blot  on  copy  book 
passed  by ;  the  joy  of  requited  love,  the  first  sweet 
breath  of  the  new-born  Cupid,  the  "  purple  light " 
that  should  have  illumined  all  things,  were  not  for 
her.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  as  one  resolves  to 
begin  a  long  journey  into  an  unknown  country  and 
takes  up  his  abode  there ;  and  her  soul  was  oppressed 
with  the  same  dread  and  inquietude  ;  she  had  chosen 
one  of  two  evils,  not  extended  her  hand  to  pluck  a 
great  joy;  no  wonder  her  eyes  were  sad,  her  face  pale 
and  drawn.  She  was  not  at  all  in  the  same  position 
that  Miss  Tempy  occupied  when  she  went  to  Parson 
Hall  for  advice ;  that  little  spinster  had  been  so 
pleased  with  the  prospect  before  her  that  she  had  in 
her  heart  resolved  to  accept  it  even  before  she 
opened  the  parsonage  door,  though  she  had  not  for- 


A  CONFLICT.  261 

mulated  the  resolution  to  herself ;  but  it  was  a  fore 
gone  conclusion.  Esther  was  alone  ;  she  had  not  yet 
learned  to  ask  help  where  it  is  given  willingly,  con 
vincingly,  and  without  upbraiding.  Indeed,  had  the 
idea  occurred  to  her  she  would  at  once  have  thought 
that  it  must  be  God's  will  that  anybody  whom  Parson 
Hall  asked  to  marry  him  should  do  so ;  the  man  was 
such  a  saint ;  she  did  not  know  that  saints  are  made 
saintly  by  denial  and  deprivation ;  nor  did  she  yet 
know  that  she  herself  was  to  help  make  Parson  Hall 
more  saintly  still. 

As  she  sat  in  her  chair  of  rule  the  day  after,  hav 
ing  achieved  a  little  more  self-control,  an  objection 
occurred  to  her  that  seemed  more  valid  than  any  yet ; 
an  objection  she  thought  even  Parson  Hall  would 
consider  ought  to  prevent  her  marrying  at  all ;  who 
would  take  her  school  ?  A  throb  of  joy  shot  across 
her  heart  as  she  thought  of  it ;  a  throb  that  would 
have  enlightened  and  convinced  a  more  introspective 
woman.  Never  had  those  rosy  little  faces  seemed  so 
dear  to  her  as  to-day ;  even  the  thwart  aspect  of  the 
black  lambs  in  her  flock  moved  her  with  pity  rather 
than  wrath.  She  brought  out  to  them  at  recess  her 
bowl  of  fresh  doughnuts  and  distributed  them  with 
divine  impartiality  to  all.  She  warmed  in  speech  and 
face  toward  every  youngster  among  them ;  she  gath 
ered  the  tiny  girls  into  her  arms  and  about  her  knees 
with  a  tenderness  that  overflowed  all  their  faults  and 
follies,  and  the  children  responded  with  clinging  arms 
and  fond  caresses. 


262  STEADFAST. 

ISTo !  she  could  never,  never  part  with  them !  But 
it  was  a  girl's  "  never." 

That  night  she  wrote  and  sent  this  quaint,  shy  little 
note  to  Parson  Hall. 

REVEBENDE  SIB,  —  I  have  given  some  Thought  to  the  mat 
ter  Off  which  we  held  converse.     I  think  i  had  Forgot  my  littel 
Charge  of  Children,     i  know  not  Howe  to  leve  them  withoute  a 
Teacher.     Therfor  I  think  We  wille  speak  of  this  Noe  further. 
Y'r  ob'1  humble  sery1t  to  command.       ESTHEB  DENNIS. 

Yes !  it  is  misspelt ;  but  so  were  greater  people's 
letters.  They  lived  and  loved,  and  were  great  and 
good  in  those  days  without  spelling  well.  Strange, 
but  true ! 

Parson  Hall  smiled  and  sighed  both  over  the  little 
note.  He  perceived  in  it  only  the  maidenly  shyness  and 
the  desire  to  do  right  of  a  sweet,  conscientious  young 
girl.  It  was  something  deeper  than  he  knew ;  a  want 
that  he  felt,  yet  could  not  express,  that  made  the  sigh 
follow  the  smile.  Between  those  formal  lines  lay  a 
desert  space  that  chilled  and  disheartened  him  as  he 
read ;  yet  like  any  other  man  he  ignored  the  warning 
instinct,  and  was  rationally  pleased  to  think  what  a 
helpmeet  this  woman  would  be,  who  could  so  tran 
quilly  set  aside  love  for  duty.  He  did  not  know 
Esther ! 

But  her  heart  sank  as  she  read  the  answer. 

MY  BELOVED  ESTHEB, — The  Obstacle  of  w'h  you  speake 
]  have  alreddy  Provided  for,  if  there  Bee  no  other.  I  can  fill 
your  Place  in  the  School,  but  not  in  mine  owne  Hart.  I  wait 
withe  some  Impatience  but  A  resolved  Sperit  for  your  favore- 


A   CONFLICT.  263 

able  Answer.     May  You  be  guided  by  Devine  Providense  is  the 
Prayer  of  your  atached  Friend  and  Humble  Servant, 

PHILP:MON  HAKL. 

Esther's  heart  sank  as  she  read  this  short  but  pur 
poseful  missive.  She,  too,  read  between  its  lines  the 
steady,  powerful  nature  that  indited  them ;  the  strong 
if  kindly  will  that  had  laid  its  hand  on  her,  and  would 
not  lift  it;  and  Esther  was  a  typical  woman.  The 
legend  of  Paradise,  "  he  shall  reign  over  thee "  was 
imprinted  on  her  nature  ;  even  resisting  while  she 
obeyed,  she  would  still  obey.  She  sat  down  in  a  sort 
of  desperate  calm,  did  her  daily  work  as  steadily  and 
as  stupidly  as  a  machine,  and  endured  with  voiceless 
dread  the  sharp  rush  of  hurrying  hours  that  brought 
Mr  Hall  for  his  answer. 

It  was  evening  when  he  came,  and  as  before,  Esther 
let  him  in.  There  was  no  one  else  to  do  so.  Awk 
ward  enough  was  the  situation ;  her  face  was  rigid,  her 
eyes  cast  down.  A  statue  that  had  locomotion  would 
have  been  as  encouraging  a  hostess  ! 

Only  the  most  meagre  commonplaces  passed  the 
.lips  of  either.  It  is  true  the  minister's  heart  beat 
loud  and  fast.  An  ordinary  man  would  have  come 
with  more  confidence,  for  well  Philemon  Hall  knew 
that  to  be  the  beloved  and  chosen  partner  of  a  min 
ister  was  in  those  days  a  high  honor,  but  Parson  Hall 
was  not  an  ordinary  man ;  he  felt  in  his  pure,  manly 
soul  that  the  heart  and  life  of  a  young  girl  were  a 
great  gift  to  ask,  and  that  he  or  any  other  man  was 
scarce  worthy  to  receive  such  a  blessing ;  and  more- 


264  STEADFAST. 

over  he  loved  Esther  far  more  that  he  had  loved 
Rachel.  It  is  possible  for  a  man  to  love  twice  or 
thrice  with  the  same  fervor  and  freshness.  Alas ! 
it  is  impossible  for  a  woman  ;  but  no  man  knows  it. 
At  last,  after  all  the  commonplaces  of  the  time  had 
been  exhausted,  the  Parson,  as  became  him,  spoke 
first. 

"  Esther,"  he  said,  "  I  am  come  for  my  answer.  Is 
it  yes,  or  no,  dear  ?  " 

Esther  trembled  like  a  tall  lily  in  the  wind;  she 
could  not  speak,  her  face  was  wan  with  trouble,  her 
eyes  uplifted.  The  parson  had  risen  as  he  spoke,  and 
she  too  rose  with  a  slow  gesture  of  delay,  as  if  she 
were  about  to  ascend  a  sacrificial  altar. 

"  Esther  ?  "  he  asked  again. 

She  stretched  out  her  hand  to  him,  slowly,  and  he 
clasped  her  in  his  arms.  Esther  shuddered. 

"Look  at  me,  dear,"  he  said,  misinterpreting  the 
tremble  that  ran  through  her  frame.  Men  before  and 
after  Parson  Hall  have  mistaken  a  chill  for  a  thrill ! 

She  lifted  her  eyes  obediently.  Philemon  Hall 
had  once  looked  into  the  eyes  of  a  woman  who  loved 
him ;  he  knew  the  deep,  immortal  flame  that  burns 
with  a  true  love's  breath,  but  these  great  hazel  eyes 
were  like  those  of  a  shot  dove;  and  his  heart  fell 
before  their  sad  and  mute  appeal.  Was  this  his 
triumph  ?  the  hour  of  his  pride  ?  Is  fruition  ever  as 
satisfying,  as  bewitching,  as  hope  ? 

It  was  to  be  again  the  old  story  of  one  who  kisses, 
and  one  who  offers  the  cheek. 


A   CONFLICT.  265 

The  parson,  if  he  did  not  understand  women,  was  a 
gentleman.  He  released  Esther  from  his  embrace, 
and  quietly  replaced  her  in  her  chair,  moving  his 
own  beside  it,  so  that  she  need  not  be  conscious  of 
his  eyes  searching  her  downcast  face;  and  then  he 
began  to  talk  gently  of  the  future.  He  explained  to 
Esther  that  Aunt  Euthy  was  becoming  stricken  in 
years,  and  no  longer  able  to  work  as  she  had  done ;  so 
it  was  his  plan  to  send  up  to  Wethersfield  for  a  re 
cently  widowed  niece  of  hers,  who  would  be  glad  to 
increase  her  small  income  by  means  of  the  school; 
and  then  Aunt  Euthy  could  establish  herself  in  the 
house,  as  Miss  Tempy  had  done,  and  keep  her  inde 
pendence,  and  occupy  her  time  by  caring  for  the 
small  dwelling  that,  inhabited  by  two  women  only, 
and  not  obliged  to  open  its  doors  to  a  succession  of 
guests,  like  the  parsonage,  would  not  require  a  tithe 
of  the  care  and  work  which  the  dear  old  woman  had 
hitherto  undertaken. 

Esther  listened  and  acquiesced  like  one  in  a  dream, 
she  could  not  imagine  herself  in  the  new  position ;  she 
already  shrank  from  contemplating  the  future ;  she 
tried  to  be  passive,  to  forget ;  to  accept  all  things  as 
they  came,  and  believe  they  were  right.  Parson  Hall, 
man-like,  admired  her  silent  modesty;  if  he  would 
have  liked  better  a  little  more  demonstration,  a  tender 
glance,  a  blush,  or  a  pressure  of  the  small  hand  when 
at  last  he  left  her,  he  still  respected  her  girlish  cold 
ness  and  reticence,  and  thought  how  sweet  it  would 
be  to  melt  that  thin,  beguiling  shimmer  of  frost,  to 


266  STEADFAST. 

teach  that  virginal  heart  its  rightful  beating,  to  melt 
the  chilly  sadness  of  those  eyes  into  a  real  glow. 
He  forgot  that  he  once  thought  she  had  loved  Philip 
Kent ;  he  did  not  know,  would  he  ever  know  ?  —  how 
she  had  loved  him.  If  the  parson  had  ever  seen  those 
eyes,  those  lips,  that  radiant  face  as  Philip  had  seen 
it  times  without  number,  would  he  have  doubted  his 
own  power  to  rekindle  the  spent  fire  ?  Probably 
not ;  he  was  a  man,  if  he  was  also  a  saint. 

But  no  such  idea  disturbed  him  to-night ;  he  left 
Esther  early,  after  having  asked  her  to  drive  over  to 
Pickering  with  him  on  Saturday  and  make  a  call  on 
Mrs.  Tempy,  as  he  himself  had  some  clerical  business 
with  Parson  Dyer.  Esther  assented,  and  the  parson 
gravely  raised  her  cold  fingers  to  his  lips  as  he  said 
"  Good-by."  She  was  glad  he  went.  Poor  Esther. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

DOWNWARD. 

Full  easy  is  it  downwardly  to  go  ; 

But  to  ascend,  what  labor  !  and  what  woe!    • 

So  saith  the  Latin  poet  ;  but,  ah  me ! 

Some  in  this  doleful  countering  world  there  be, 

Who  dread  descent,  and  linger  on  the  way, 

Yet  needs  must  go,  howe'er  they  long  to  stay. 

SATURDAY  came,  cold  but  clear ;  the  last  day  of 
February  was  even  more  wintry  than  the  first  day  of 
December.  Esther  put  on  her  cape  of  soft  old  marten 
fur  over  her  serge-lined  camlet  cloak,  and  tied  her  red 
quilted  hood  under  her  chin,  put  a  small  heated  soap- 
stone  into  her  muff,  and  filled  the  tin  footstove  with 
hickory  coals  well  smothered  in  ashes ;  the  fire  was 
raked  up  in  the  chimney,  the  chairs  set  back  from 
beside  it,  and  she  was  read}r  in  every  detail  to  set  out 
on  her  drive  when  Parson  Hall  drew  up  his  steady, 
sturdy  old  nag  before  the  door.  Esther,  since  she  had 
laid  her  hand  in  Mr.  Hall's  as  a  tacit  acceptance  of 
his  suit,  given  more  because  she  did  not  know  what 
good  reason  to  give  for  refusing  him  rather  than  of 
ready  will  and  joyful  assent,  had  begun  to  recoil  from 
the  shore  upon  which  she  had  allowed  herself  to 
drift ;  she  awoke  to  the  consciousness  that  she  had 
promised  what  she  never  meant  to  promise,  but  her 
morbid  conscience  forbade  her  to  break  her  word. 

267 


268  STEADFAST. 

All  the  night  after  that  decisive  interview  she  tossed 
on  her  bed,  sleepless  and  wretched.  Utterly  alone 
since  Sybil  sailed  for  England  and  Tempy  had  gone  to 
Pickering,  Esther  had  felt  that  terror  of  solitude,  that 
eager  longing  for  some  one  to  speak  to  of  her  own 
trouble,  that  is  characteristic  of  a  woman  of  her  tem 
perament.  To  Sybil,  solitude  was  native  air ;  she  en 
joyed  its  calmness  and  repose,  but  to  Esther  it  was 
torture. 

Left  to  herself  to  face  what  she  had  done,  she  be 
came  wild ;  Parson  Hall's  tender,  strong  heart,  would 
have  been  wrung  to  its  depths  could  he  have  seen  her 
restless  figure,  her  head  buried  in  both  hands,  or  turn 
ing  to  and  fro  in  distress ;  her  face  streaming  with 
slow,  hot  tears  ;  or  heard  her  stifled  cries,  her  sobs, 
the  low  piteous  wails  like  those  of  a  young  bird  de 
serted -in  its  nest,  facing  all  the  terrors  of  darkness. 
Ah  !  how  Esther  needed  a  mother  now. 

But  there  was  none  to  comfort  her ;  she  grew  more 
composed  as  the  grey  dawn  slowly  crept  over  the 
wintry  sea  and  lit  her  chamber  with  its  wan  and 
wistful  shining ;  she  made  up  her  mind  to  that  piti 
ful  subterfuge  so  common  to  women,  that  she  would 
not  think  of  the  matter  any  more  than  could  be 
helped  ;  she  would  pretend  all  was  right ;  deceive  her 
self  into  peace ;  and  follow  the  path  she  had  chosen 
to  walk  in,  as  calmly  as  she  could.  Had  not  she  and 
happiness  bid  each  other  a  long  farewell  months  ago  ? 
Yet,  under  all,  that  subtle  tormentor  a  trained,  iron 
clad,  relentless,  unconquerable,  New  England  con- 


DOWNWARD.  269 

science,  told  her  that  she  was  sinning  anew ;  that  her 
victory  over  her  own  inmost  convictions  was  worse 
than  a  defeat.  But  she  would  not  listen  ;  she  busied 
herself  about  her  house,  she  threw  herself  more  heart 
ily  than  ever  into  her  little  school ;  she  went  out 
among  the  parents  of  her  scholars  to  take  tea  or  wear 
away  the  long  evenings  as  she  had  never  done  before  ; 
so  that  even  in  the  few  days  intervening  between 
Parson  Hall's  momentous  visit  and  the  Saturday's 
drive  she  had  attained  in  some  measure  to  the 

"Glissez  mortels!  n'  appuyez  pas," 

of  the  French  philosophy  ;  whatever  depths  lay  under 
the  surface  of  her  life  that  surface  was  smooth  and 
glittering  —  if  it  was  ice  —  she  would  slide  on  tran 
quilly.  So  she  presented  herself  at  the  door  when 
she  heard  old  Dolly's  jingling  bells  stop  before  it,  and 
Mr.  Hall  helped  her  in  so  carefully  and  tucked  the 
buffalo  robe  about  her  with  such  attention  that  the 
color  rose  softly  into  her  pale  cheeks. 

It  was  well  for  her  that  this  man  whom  she  was 
about  to  marry  without  one  particle  of  the  love  which 
is  the  only  reason  or  excuse  for  marriage  was  the  man 
he  was,  a  thorough  Christian  gentleman.  All  the 
way  to  Pickering  he  treated  Esther  with  a  grave  cour 
tesy  most  unlike  a  lover,  which  set  her  entirely  at 
ease ;  the  least  demonstration  of  feeling  would  have 
made  her  long  to  escape  from  his  companionship  then 
and  forever ;  so  sore,  so  harassed  was  her  wounded 
girlish  heart.  Parson  Hall  had  not  forgotten  that  at 


270  STEADFAST. 

one  time  he  had  supposed  Esther  to  be  in  love  with 
Philip  Kent,  but  with  a  man's  usual  ignorance  of 
women,  he  thought  it  a  girlish  infatuation  that  had 
long  passed  away  ;  indeed  she  had  no  doubt  gotten 
over  it  as  soon  as  Philip's  marriage  made  it  a  sin  for 
her  to  think  of  him  in  that  way.  It  was  a  natural 
conclusion  for  a  man  and  a  minister.  What  did  he 
know  of  that  force  of  a  first  passion  that  defies  the 
proprieties,  and  refuses  to  leave  the  heart  it  rends 
and  tortures,  even  when  the  conscience  arrays  itself 
against  its  indulgence  ?  He  had  loved  his  wife  well 
and  truly ;  he  had  given  up  all  that  makes  wedded 
life  dear  to  a  man  to  prove  his  unselfish  love  for  her ; 
he  had  sacrificed  his  youth  to  become  the  nurse  of  a 
helpless  invalid,  with  a  divine  Quixotism  ingrained  in 
his  nature ;  and  lo !  here  he  loved  Esther  even  more 
than  he  had  loved  Rachel;  why  should  Esther  not 
learn  to  regard  him  as  she  had  Philip  Kent  ?  But 
he  thought  she  was  timid  and  sensitive,  and  he  would 
not  startle  her  with  expressions  of  affection  that 
must  be  strange  to  her  innocent  ears ;  he  talked  to 
her  of  the  day,  the  exquisite  half-lights  the  clouds 
shed  upon  the  tossing  water  as  they  veiled  the  cold 
winter  sun  with  hurrying  fleeces  driven  by  the  north 
wind ;  he  pointed  out  to  her  the  blue  shadows  of  the 
drifts,  the  picturesque  outlines  of  the  snow-laden  old 
cedars  that  crowned  the  cliffs  along  the  shore ;  he 
told  her  stories  of  his  childhood  in  the  inland  country 
where  she  too  had  been  a  child ;  he  made  her  laugh 
over  his  boyish  pranks ;  he  took  her  out  of  her  life 


DOWNWARD  271 

in  Trumbull  away  back  into  a  world  she  had  wellnigh 
forgotten ;  the  days  when  she  too  had  cracked  nuts 
and  roasted  apples  by  the  open  fire  in  the  kitchen, 
and  been  terrified  by  the  pumpkin  lantern  her  father 
had  made  to  amuse  her.  For  there  was  much  of  the 
child  left  yet  in  Esther,  nor  was  she  of  that  selfish 
sort  who  are  so  grappled  and  absorbed  by  their  own 
sorrow  or  their  own  concerns  that  they  cannot  be 
diverted  from  their  conscious  contemplations  of  them 
selves  by  anything  in  heaven  or  earth. 

Esther  was  impulsive,  generous,  gentle,  in  spite  of 
her  quick  temper  and  rash  self-devotion;  a  real 
woman  after  that  most  perfect  description  of  woman 
that  ever  a  man  made,  — 

"  One  in  whom 

The  springtime  of  her  childish  years 
Hath  never  lost  its  fresh  perfume, 
Though  knowing  well  that  life  hath  room 
For  many  blights  and  many  tears." 

So  by  the  time  they  drew  up  before  the  south  door 
of  the  farmhouse  in  Pickering,  over  which  Miss 
Tempy  "  that  was  "  now  reigned,  Esther  was  like  her 
old  self  again,  gay,  smiling,  rosy,  and  ready  to  return 
heartily  Tempy's  warm  embrace. 

"  Dew  tell  if  it's  you  !  Well,  well,  I  dono  as  ever 
I  was  more  glad  to  see  a  livin'  cretur  in  all  my  born 
days.  Why,  ain't  you  agoin'  to  'light  down,  Parson 
Hall  ?  Goin'  over  to  the  minister's,  be  ye  ?  Well, 
you  come  back  to  dinner,  we'll  have  some  vittles 
for  you  I  guess,  'tain't  none  too  often  we  get  sight  of 


272  STEADFAST. 

anybody  here  in  sleighin'  time,  seems  real  folksy  to 
see  ye." 

The  parson  laughed  as  he  answered,  "  I  cannot  prom 
ise,  Mrs.  Hopkins  ;  you  know  Brother  Dyer  is  a  posi 
tive  man,  and  if  he  says  I  shall  stay  with  him  I  know 
not  how  to  escape.  But  if  I  return  I  will  be  here  on 
the  stroke  of  twelve." 

Neither  Esther  nor  Tempy  knew  that  he  was  so 
considerate  of  Esther  that  he  meant  to  leave  her 
alone  with  her  old  friend  as  long  as  he  could. 

Esther  was  led  quickly  to  the  kitchen  fire  and  her 
wraps  lifted  off ;  then  Tempy  set  her  in  an  old  arm 
chair  well  cushioned  for  Ammi's  benefit,  and  drawing 
up  another  for  herself,  began  the  expected  flood  of 
questions  about  all  the  people  and  things  in  Trum- 
bull.  Suddenly  she  broke  off  the  queries,  and  said 
sharply,— 

"  Easter  Dennis  !  what  have  you  b'en  a  doin'  to 
yourself  sence  I  came  away  ?  You're  about  as  fat  as 
a  hen's  forrid  !  you  looked  kind  of  prompt  and  rosy 
when  you  come  in,  but  now  you're  real  white  ;  what's 
the  matter  of  ye  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  Aunt  Tempy,"  said  Esther,  wistfully. 

"  Yes  the'  is  ;  I  expect  though,  the  Lord  only  knows, 
and  he  won't  tell ! " 

"  You  don't  look  as  well  as  you  did,  either,  Aunt 
Tempy." 

"  Well,  I  dono  as  I  do.  Fact  is,  there's  a  sight  of 
work  to  be  done  here.  Deacon  Hopkins  he's  a  real 
driver ;  I  had  all  the  hog-killin'  to  see  to,  ye  know, 


DOWNWARD.  273 

after  I  come ;  sassage,  an'  souse,  an'  all  that ;  and 
there's  the  butter,  and  the  hens  ;  oh  mercy  me  !  tain't 
all  sugar  'n  honey-pie  now,  gettin'  married,  Easter, 
you  better  believe.  I  expect  if  you're  goin'  to  do  it, 
whether  or  no,  you'd  better  begin  young ;  it's  hard  to 
learn  a  old  dog  new  tricks.  Not  but  what  the  deacon 
is  a  good-disposed  man ;  he's  as  pious  as  they  make 
'em ;  goes  to  meetin'  reglar,  and  is  a  hero  at  prayer  ; 
beats  all !  But  you  see  I  was  consider'ble  old  to  fall 
into  new  ways,  and  it's  wore  on  me  some.  He's  pleas 
ant  enough,  but  he's  kind  of  pernickity  'round  the 
house,  wants  to  hev  the  pork-barrel  jest  in  that  corner, 
and  the  pickle-pot  in  t'other  ;  he's  lived  by  himself  a 
spell  ye  know,  and  got  notional. 

"  But  he's  as  good  as  th'  everage,  quite  as  good  as 
th'  everage ;  ef  he  is  a  little  near,  and  I  couldn't  pick 
and  choose.  I've  got  a  comfortable  home,  and  I 
calculate  to  make  the  best  on't.  He's  quite  a  little 
older  'n  I  be,  and  ef  he  dies  fust,  why  I  shall  be  well- 
to-do  ;  and  ef  I  do,  I  make  no  doubt  but  what  he'll 
keer  for  me,  as  fur  as  is  needful,  to  th'  end,  and  put 
up  a  stun  for  me." 

Esther's  heart  sank  as  she  listened  to  this  confi- 
.  dence.  Was  this  all  then  that  marriage  offered  ?  the 
patient  drudgery  of  a  housewife  ? 

"But  Aunt  Tempy,  after  all  aren't  you  glad  you 
married  the  Deacon  ?  "  the  girl  asked,  with  a  sort  of 
quiver  in  her  voice. 

"  I  dono.  P'raps  I  shall  be  when  1  get  used  to  't. 
I  some  think  the  'Postle  Poll  was  right  when  he  said, 


274  STEADFAST. 

1  it  is  better  if  they  so  abide/  —  meanin'  the  onmar- 
ried.  Still,  'twas  dreadful  lonesome  to  look  forrard 
to  livin'  and  dyin'  alone." 

Esther's  heart  said  "  Amen."  She  too  dreaded  the 
solitude  of  a  single  life. 

"  Well,  I  think  so,  too,  Aunt  Tempy,  and  I  —  I  — 
you  see  I  am  just  as  lonely  as  you  are.  There  is  no 
one  —  so  —  oh,  Aunt  Tempy !  I  am  promised  to  Mr. 
Hall ! " 

The  last  words  came  with  a  rush.  It  was  so  hard 
to  say  them ! 

"  My  blessed  lamb  !  you  don't  tell  me !  well  of  all 
things !  Why,  now  I  can  say  like  that  old  cretur  in 
Scriptur,  I  can't  recall  his  name,  —  '  now  lettest  thou 
thy  servant  depart  in  peace ' ;  my  dear,  my  dear ! " 

And  here  Aunt  Tempy  fell  upon  Esther  and  hugged 
her  with  all  her  old  energy.  The  tears  stood  in  the 
girl's  eyes  with  pleasure  and  pain  both.  She  had 
committed  herself  now  past  redemption ;  but  it  was 
so  good,  so  sweet,  to  have  Aunt  Tempy's  tumultuous 
congratulation ! 

"  And  I  never  even  surmised  of  it.  I  thought  his 
heart  was  berried  along  with  his  fust.  But  bless  me ! 
ha'n't  the  deacon  had  three  before  me  ?  and  to  hear 
him  talk  you'd  think  I  was  the  best  of  the  lot.  I  feel 
set  up  good  when  he  gets  onto  that  string.  Well ! 
well!  he'll  be  proper  good  to  ye,  Esther.  He's  a 
good  man,  one  of  the  best,  —  not  but  what  he's  a  man. 
They  don't  put  no  angels  into  Connecticut  meetin'- 
houses,  whatsoever  they  may  do  elsewhere ;  and  I'm 


DOWNWARD.  275 

glad  on't !  I  don't  want  no  perfection  round  where  I 
be ;  a  little  of  th'  old  Adam  is  as  good  as  salt  into  a 
huckleberry  pie.  Well,  I  be  set  up  now.  I've  had  ye 
011  my  mind,  dear,  this  long  while.  I  couldn't  see 
how  I  come  to  leave  ye  all  alone  so ;  but,  bless  me ! 
women-folks  hes  to  give  in  when  a  man  comes  round ; 
they're  such  masterful  critturs.  I  spose  I  thought 
'twas  best  to  marry  the  deacon,  but  I  expect  my  own 
will  had  a  leetle  something  to  say  to  't ;  and  his'n  had 
a  heap  more,  twan't  all  reasonin'  of  it  out. 

"  Goodness  !  'tis  most  noon-mark  and  I  haven't  took 
a  step  towardst  dinner.  Well,  the  deacon's  gone  over 
to  New  Haven  to. day,  so  you  and  me  can  have  a  pick 
up  ;  there's  some  hung  beef,  and  we'll  put  the  p'taters 
in  the  ashes,  and  I'll  stir  up  a  short-cake ;  and  if  I 
didn't  make  apple-pies  yesterday !  so  I'll  clap  one 
down  to  the  fire  to  crisp  it  up ;  and  what  with  cheese 
and  some  saxafrax  tea  we'll  make  out,  I  guess,  if  the 
parson  doos  come." 

But  the  parson  did  not  come ;  the  two  women  en 
joyed  their  savory  little  meal  together.  Esther's 
heart  was  lighter  than  for  many  a  day :  it  was 
another  strong  rivet  to  her  resolution  that  Aunt 
Tempy  should  so  vehemently  approve  of  her  engage 
ment,  and  express  such  entire  confidence  in  Parson 
Hall's  goodness,  and  the  comfort  of  Esther's  future 
with  him. 

So  when  the  parson  came  back  for  his  companion, 
he  was  greeted  with  a  shy,  sweet  smile,  and  Aunt 
Tempy  rushed  on  him  with  such  eager  and  fluent  con- 


276  STEADFAST. 

gratulations  that  his  heart  warmed  as  his  face  flushed 
beneath  them. 

It  is  so  good  to  have  the  cordial  approval  of  our 
fellows  in  anything  we  undertake !  So  sweet  to  hear 
the  voice  of  cheer,  that  fills  us  with  hope  and  cour 
age  ;  restores  our  self-respect ;  and  thrills  our  hearts 
like  the  gay  trumpet-call  to  the  battle,  that  inspires  to 
victory  even  before  that  victory  is  assured. 

Was  it  not  one  of  the  elements  of  His  speech  who 
"  spake  as  man  never  spake/'  —  this  loving,  hearty 
interest  in  the  individual  life  of  every  soul  on  earth  ? 
Is  it  not  one  of  the  examples  that  His  followers 
make  too  little  account  of  ?  One  powerful  way  to  do 
good? 

"  But  stop  a  minnit ! "  screamed  Mrs.  Tempy,  after 
the  two  were  at  last  securely  tucked  into  the  sleigh, 
and  just  as  the  parson  lifted  his  whip  to  advise  Dolly 
that  they  were  ready  to  leave. 

"  I  forgot,  I  was  so  took  aback  by  good  tidin's,  to 
ask  if  you'd  heered  anything  from  Sybil  Saltonstall  ? 
Did  she  get  acrost  safe  ?  or  don't  ye  know  ?  " 

"Not  yet,"  answered  the  parson;  "but  I  had  it 
from  a  sure  hand  yesterday,  that  the  "  Lady  Fletcher  " 
hath  been  spoken  off  the  harbor  of  Manhattan,  and  I 
think  there  will  be  a  frost  by  Monday  night." 

"  Well !  well !  'twas  a  ventur'some  thing  to  sail 
acrost  the  seas  like  that.  Now,  wa'n't  it  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  hath  the  sea  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand, 
my  friend,"  answered  the  parson,  reverently. 

"'Mm,  I  s'pose  'tis  so;  but  that  don't  argoo  that 


DOWNWARD.  277 

He  won't   let   it   slop   out   sometimes,  and  drownd 
folks." 

It  was  rather  a  mixed  and  irreverent  metaphor, 
and  the  parson  had  some  trouble  in  keeping  his  face 
straight.  Ketreat  was  his  only  refuge,  so  he  smacked 
his  whip,  and  Dolly  plunged  into  the  drifts  at  a  smart 
pace 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    LAY    SISTER. 

With  even  step  and  musing  gait, 
And  looks  commercing  with  the  skies, 
Thy  rapt  soul  sitting  in  thine  eyes ; 
There,  held  in  holy  passion  still, 
Forget  thyself  to  marble. 

IT  was  not  till  toward  the  middle  of  the  next  week 
that  the  mail  which  the  "  Lady  Fletcher "  brought 
from  England  was,  so  far  as  Esther's  share  of  it  went, 
delivered  in  Trumbull  by  the  post-rider.  Esther  was 
overjoyed  to  get  a  letter  in  Sybil's  firm,  legible  script, 
not  only  because  it  was  from  Sybil,  but  that  it  was 
her  first  letter  from  over  seas,  and  had  about  it  a  sort 
of  foreign  atmosphere,  as  if  from  another  world. 
For  in  those  days  people  did  not  talk  familiarly  of 
the  " herring-pond,"  or  "going  across."  The  majesty 
of  that  sinful  and  storm-tossed  ocean  still  asserted 
itself.  It  was  a  perilous  and  solemn  journey  of  long 
weeks,  and  "a  man  going  to  sea"  was  prayed  for 
from  the  pulpit  in  much  the  same  phrases  used  for  a 
man  dangerously  ill ;  the  chances  of  living  through 
either  ordeal  seemed  nearly  equal.  Sybil's  letter  had 
an  interest  for  Esther,  however,  that  she  had  not 
foreseen. 

It  ran  thus  ;  — 

"My  BELOVED  ESTHER, —  It  seemeth  to  Me  long  since  I 
Beheld  thy  dear  Face.  I  had  a  prossperus  Voyage  the  Captin 

278 


THE   LAY   SISTER.  279 

of  the  Vessel  said ;  but  I  was  soe  tossed  Withal,  being  driven 
up  on  Greate  and  Mightie  Waves  and  downe  again  into  appal- 
linge  Hollowes,  that  my  Soule  was  affrighted,  save  when  I  could 
command  my  Thoughts  to  fix  them  upon  Him  who  said  unto 
the  Sea  '  Be  Stille '  and  it  obeyed  Him.  I  had  lived  so  long 
Tyme  upon  the  Shore,  I  had  looked  upon  the  Oshun  as  my 
Frend;  but  Lo!  it  turned  and  Rent  me,  and  I  think  I  shalle 
Never  cross  it  more. 

"  I  have  found  goodlie  Lodginge  in  a  house  of  this  Citye  of 
London,  hard  bye  where  that  Godly  Woman,  the  Lady  Hunt- 
ington,  liveth;  and  being  alone  as  to  Kindred  and  known 
Frendes,  and  abel  to  Lette  the  Countrie-House  left  unto  Me,  I 
purpose  to  Abyde  here  amongst  the  Saintes,  and  live  as  a  Ser 
vant  waiting  upon  my  Master  for  the  Remnant  of  my  Daies. 
For  thou  knowest,  Esther,  that  my  Purposes  of  this  Worlde  are 
broken  off,  and  it  may  be  that  it  was  for  Good ;  that  it  was  the 
Hidynge  of  His  Power  soe  that  I  should  be  sett  for  Service.  I 
have  no  Mynde  to  Marridge.  I  think  it  is  better  so  to  Abyde 
even  as  I  am ;  and  there  is  Place  and  Means  here  whereby  to 
Serve  my  Generation. 

"  I  miss  thee,  Esther,  but  my  Aunt  Stanley  hath  given  me  to 
wit  that  Thou  hast  a  new  Life  before  thee ;  and  we  shoulde  have 
been  Separated  had  I  Stayed  in  Trumbull.  I  am  glad  if  it  be 
so,  Esther.  Mr.  Hall  is  a  Good  Man,  rooted  and  Grounded  in 
the  Faith;  Steadfast,  always  Aboundynge  in  the  Worke  of  the 
Lorde.  Thou  hast  chosen  well;  there  is  Woe  on  Woe  for  her 
who  fixeth  her  Harte  upon  an  Evil  Man,  who  regardeth  Him- 
selfe  above  all  Lords  and  Gods.  It  is  a  bitter  thing  to  give  the 
Harte  where  the  Soule  may  not  bear  it  Companye.  I  rejoice 
that  you  will  have  a  Comrade  and  a  Helper  toward  the  Holy 
Citie.  Forget  not  in  thy  Prayers  thy  poore  loving  Sister  in 
Christ.  SIBIL." 

Esther  was  indeed  surprised;  she  was  not  aware 
that  Mrs.  Stanley's  sharp  and  inquisitive  eyes  had 
long  since  penetrated  Parson  Hall's  feeling  for  her ; 
and  that  she  had  advised  Sybil  of  her  discovery  in 
the  very  first  letter  she  had  sent  abroad.  It  never 


280  STEADFAST. 

entered  Mrs.  Stanley's  mind  that  Esther  could  refuse 
such  a  good  match;  one  that  the  governor's  proud 
lady  considered  far  above  the  desert  or  hope  of  the 
lonely  schoolmistress.  She  would  have  characterized 
Esther  curtly  and  pungently  as  "a  devilish  little 
fool ! "  had  she  known  with  what  hesitation  and  ap 
prehension  she  at  last  consented  to  be  Philemon 
Hall's  wife;  for  Madam  Stanley  was  a  thoroughly 
worldly  woman,  and  women  of  her  station  in  her  day 
did  not  stand  upon  ceremony  as  to  words  when  they 
meant  them  to  be  expressive. 

But  if  Esther  was  surprised,  she  was  also  delighted 
to  have  Sybil  so  warmly  approve  of  her  engagement. 
Had  there  been  any  to  oppose  or  object,  her  feminine 
nature  would  have  risen  in  arms  at  once,  and  she 
would  have  hurried  on  to  her  fate  in  the  warm  haste 
of  perversity,  but  since  there  were  none  to  blame  or 
try  to  prevent  her,  except  her  own  inward  distrust 
and  shrinking,  she  was  glad  and  thankful  to  be  en 
couraged.  As  she  laid  down  the  thick  sheet  of  coarse 
paper,  she  perceived,  under  the  fold  where  the  seal 
fastened  it,  a  few  lines  more. 

"  Post  Scriptum.  I  have  sent  thee  by  the  hand  of  a  Friend, 
One  hundred  Pounds  Sterling.  Take  the  half  of  it  for  thy 
Wedding  Gownd,  from  thy  Sister.  The  other  Moeity  I  would 
have  thee  give  to  Delia  at  the  Hillside  farm,  to  keep  in  Store 
for  the  Tyme  when  the  Babe  she  hath  taken  may  have  need  of 
a  Neste  Egg." 

Esther  was  astonished  indeed.  What  was  that 
child  to  Sybil  ?  The  nameless  offspring  of  a  self- 


THE   LAY   SISTER.  281 

murdered  mother ;  a  fatherless  waif ;  why  had  pure, 
proud  Sybil  stooped  even  to  notice  its  existence  ? 
But  she  remembered  how  good  to  the  poor  and  the 
friendless  her  friend  had  ever  been,  and  laid  this 
bounty  to  that  charity  and  sweetness  that  had  so  long 
distinguished  her.  Then  came  the  question,  how 
should  she  get  out  to  Hillside  ?  But,  though  Esther 
did  not  know  it,  Sybil  had  been  provident  enough  to 
write  a  little  note  to  Mr.  Hall,  and  ask  him  to  see 
that  Esther  was  taken  out  to  the  farm  to  do  an  errand 
for  her  which  Sybil  could  not  entrust  to  any  other 
hands.  Mr.  Hall  was  glad  of  another  opportunity  to 
drive  out  with  Esther ;  he  greatly  desired  to  accus 
tom  the  shy  girl  to  his  presence,  to  wear  away  the 
strange  reserve  in  which  she  wrapped  herself,  and 
which  hurt  him  to  the  heart  as  she  daily  became 
sweeter  and  dearer  in  the  promise  of  wifehood. 

But  with  instinctive  delicacy  he  did  not  tell  her  of 
Sybil's  note ;  something  in  its  tenor  made  him  con 
scious  that  her  agency  in  the  matter  was  not  to  be 
known ;  so  he  simply  asked  Esther  if  she  would  drive 
out  with  him  toward  Hillside  and  allow  him  to  leave 
her  at  Hiram  Perkins's  while  he  went  further  on 
among  the  hills  to  make  one  or  two  pastoral  calls. 
Esther's  eyes  shone  as  she  assented,  and  the  quick 
color  rose  in  her  cheeks.  Alas  !  the  parson  rejoiced 
in  his  heart  to  see  these  tokens  of  what  he  thought, 
naturally  enough,  was  pleasure  at  going  with  him, 
whereas  it  was  only  pleasure  at  finding  a  way  so  soon 
to  do  Sybil's  errand ;  since  she  had  received  the  night 


282  STEADFAST. 

before  from  Governor  Stanley,  just  returned  on  the 
vessel  that  brought  Sybil's  letter,  a  package  of  gold 
and  notes  that  she  did  not  like  to  keep  in  the  house 
till  Delia's  share  was  safe  in  Delia's  keeping.  So 
once  more  she  seated  herself  by  the  parson  and  sped 
away  to  the  sound  of  the  tinkling  bells  up  through 
the  ill-broken  tracks,  and  the  moments  were  too  short 
for  one  of  the  pair,  for  Esther,  pleased  to  do  her 
errand,  and  simple  as  a  child  in  her  impulses,  with 
out  one  thought  of  what  her  aspect  and  manner  might 
seem  to  mean,  was  brighter  and  sweeter  than  the 
parson  had  seen  her  since  their  new  relation. 

Delia  was  brought  to  the  door  by  the  sound  of 
sleigh-bells,  an  unusual  sound  since  winter  had  practi 
cally  blockaded  the  farm. 

"  Why,  'tain't  you,  is  it,  Esther  ?  I  can't  skerce  be 
lieve  my  eyes.  I  should  ha'  jest  as  soon  thought  of 
seem'  a  ghost ! " 

"But,  Delye  dear,  it  isn't  any  ghost,"  laughed 
Esther.  "  Ghosts  don't  hug  folks,  do  they  ?  "  throw 
ing  her  arms  about  the  good  woman's  neck  with  a 
hearty  affection  that  made  the  parson  envious. 

"  I  guess  they  don't !  nor  they  don't  look  so  rosy. 
Won't  ye  come  in,  Parson  Hall  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Perkins,  but  I  have  further  to 
go.  I  will  return  in  an  hour  or  so." 

And  with  an  effort  the  parson  turned  Dolly's  head 
from  the  door  ;  he  had  seen  how  Esther  could  look  at 
one  she  loved  :  —  he  knew  she  had  never  so  looked  at 
him. 


THE   LAY   SISTER.  283 

"  Set  ye  down,  dear,"  said  Delia,  with  an  assiduous 
and  tender  voice  and  gesture  that  made  Esther  happy, 
for  Delia  was  the  only  other  person  beside  Tempy 
Hopkins  left  to  her  of  her  old  life,  now ;  and  she 
loved  her  with  a  warmth  natural  to  her  age  and  char 
acter.'  Servants  in  the  good  old  New  England  days 
were  a  part  and  parcel  of  the  family  and  deserved  so 
to  be ;  now  they  rule  the  house  with  a  rod  of  iron, 
and  despise  their  submissive  victims. 

Delia  was  both  surprised  and  pleased  at  Sybil's  gift. 

"She  is  so  good,"  said  Esther.  "Delye,  I  know 
not  of  another  woman  who  would  think,  so  far  re 
moved  from  her  old  dwelling,  of  a  solitary  orphaned 
child." 

"  Don't  ye  ?  "  said  Delia,  with  a  keen  sparkle  in  her 
eye  ;  and  just  then  the  child  crept  toward  them  and 
lifted  his  face  ;  he  had  been  playing  near  the  corner 
of  the  hearth  and  had  picked  up  a  bit  of  charcoal  with 
which  he  had  smeared  the  lower  part  of  his  face  till 
it  looked  like  the  darkness  of  a  beard  that  needed 
shaving. 

"  You  look  at  him,  good ! "  said  Delia ;  and  as 
Esther  turned  her  head,  she  gave  an  involuntary 
start ;  there  was  John  Stonebridge's  face  before  her. 
The  bold,  brilliant,  dark  eyes ;  the  full  audacious 
forehead,  crowned  with  short  black  curls,  the  mobile 
lips ;  the  heavy,  deep-shaded  jaws  ;  the  cleft  chin. 
Now  she  knew  why  Sybil's  charity  flowed  this  way ; 
she  looked  at  Delia  with  a  look  of  pained  surprise. 
Delia  nodded. 


284  STEADFAST. 

"You  see  now.  She  couldn't  abear  to  touch  the 
youngster,  nor  to  look  at  him  nyther,  when  she  was 
here  ;  but  I  expect  she's  sorry  for  him,  'tis  jest  like 
her ;  she's  a  sight  too  good  for  this  airth,  she  had 
ought  to  be  one  o'  the  saints,  and  I  expect  she  will  be 
in  the  Lord's  good  time.  But  she  no  need  to  na'  sent 
that  money.  Hiram  he  got  fifty  pound  last  January ; 
well  'tis  last  month,  ain't  it  ?  and  a  line  to  say  'twould 
be  paid  reg'lar  for  the  boy's  use  so  long  as  he  lived, 
but  for  God's  sake  to  fetch  him  up  strict,  and  make  a 
good  man  of  him.  Well  I  knowed  who  writ  that  let 
ter  !  I  ha'n't  lived  in  Trumbull  the  hull  o'  my  life 
with  shut  eyes.  But  how  he  could  hev  hed  the  solid 
impidence  to  even  himself  to  Miss  Sybil,  beats  me. 
Comes  of  bein'  a  man,  I  s'pose  ;  they  do  think,  every 
man-jack  of  'em,  that  ef  they  say  '  snip '  to  any  livin' 
woman,  beshooshemay,  she'll  say  '  snap '  and  be  tickled 
to  death  to  say  it.  I  suppose  the  Lord  made  'em  so, 
and  I  haven't  no  call  to  fault  'em ;  but  I  do  hate  to 
see  creturs  so  consated.  Look  at  Adam  now,  the  very 
fust  of  'em  !  'stead  of  standin'  up  like  a  honest  feller 
when  the  Lord  took  him  to  do  about  eatin'  of  the 
apple,  why  he  sneaked  under  Eve's  apern ;  didn't 
have  the  grit  to  say,  'I  done  it  Lord,  an'  I'm  sorry 
for't/  but  kinder  whined  out,  t  the  woman  whom  thou 
gavest  to  be  with  me,  she  gave  me  of  the  tree  and  I  did 
eat ! '  Mean  !  meaner  'n  a  hoppin-toad !  and  men  take 
after  their  pa  all  the  way  down.  I  solemnly  b'lieve 
ef  that  I  could  corner  Gunnel  Stonebridge  this  min- 
nit,  about  this  matter,  and  ask  him  'Why  done  ye 


THE   LAY   SISTER.  285 

so?'  he'd  lay  it  to  that  poor  miser'ble  critter  that 
went  air  drownded  herself  in  the  harbor  !  " 

Esther  listened  with  a  shocked,  almost  a  terrified 
face.  She  understood  now  the  whole  of  Sybil's  letter. 
She  had  known  that  for  some  reason  Sybil  had  once 
and  again  rejected  John  Stonebridge,  and  had  won 
dered  deeply  why ;  but  Sybil  was  reticent  always,  and 
Esther  had,  judging  her  friend  by  herself,  concluded 
that  Sybil  did  not  love  him  very  profoundly. 

JSTor  had  she  before  connected  Colonel  Stonebridge 
with  the  tragedy  of  the  drowned  girl.  She  had  been 
horror-struck  at  the  occurrence,  but  never  questioned 
its  cause,  or  talked  about  it.  Esther's  mind  was  so 
essentially  pure  that  sins  of  the  coarser  sort  never 
seemed  to  dwell  in  her  memory ;  they  slipped  away 
from  contact  with  a  nature  that  had  no  affinity  for 
them.  Now  she  shuddered,  as  for  the  first  time  she 
understood  the  depth  of  Sybil's  trouble,  and  the 
anguish  of  her  final  loss ;  for  well  she  knew  what 
such  a  sin  would  be  to  proud  and  high-minded  Sybil ; 
death  itself  could  raise  no  more  impassible  barrier 
between  her  and  John  Stonebridge  than  this. 

And  Esther  returned  with  deep  gratitude  to  that 
phrase  in  Sybil's  letter  wherein  she  spoke  so  earnestly 
of  Mr.  Hall's  goodness ;  she  contrasted  him  with  her 
friend's  lover,  and  felt  a  warm  pride  steal  into  her 
heart.  Poor  Esther !  the  rush  of  overwhelming  joy, 
the  utter  disregard  of  all  adjuncts,  all  reason,  all 
doubt,  that  had  filled  her  soul  when  she  loved  Philip 
Kent  were  all  wanting  here ;  at  best,  she  was  trying 


286  STEADFAST. 

to  excuse  herself  to  herself  for  forming  this  new  tie 
from  which  in  her  secret  heart  she  shrunk  with  a  cold 
terror  she  dared  not  recognize ;  but  could  not  ignore. 
She  found  herself  thinking  that  Sybil's  part  was  best ; 
that  to  be  through  with  all  the  troublous  joys,  the 
irksome  duties,  the  deceptive  hopes,  the  futile  expect 
ances  of  this  world ;  to  live  a  life  of  devotion  to 
God  and  uplifted  benevolence  to  man  was  of  all  lives 
the  sweetest,  the  most  desirable.  To  be  "  a  pensive 
nun,  devout  and  pure  "  like  Sybil,  suddenly  seemed 
to  her  the  apex  of  life  for  a  woman.  When  Parson 
Hall  came  back  for  her  he  felt  that  some  subtle 
change  had  passed  over  her;  her  eye  was  cold,  her 
face  pale,  her  aspect  rigid,  and  she  only  answered 
him  when  he  spoke  to  her,  she  had  nothing  to  say. 
Her  thoughts  were  all  with  Sybil  in  her  passionless 
devotion ;  her  retreat  from  a  weary  and  unsatisfying 
world ;  the  mood  absorbed  her,  and,  for  the  time,  she 
acted  under  its  spell.  It  was  one  of  Esther's  charms, 
that  varying  moods  possessed  her,  that  her  "  infinite 
variety"  interested  and  excited  both  her  lovers  and 
her  friends ;  it  was  this  that  had  kept  alive  Philip 
Kent's  flickering  ardor ;  that  had  made  her  so  attrac 
tive  to  Parson  Hall,  though  he  did  not  understand  it. 
But  the  mood  of  to-day  had  no  charm  for  him,  the 
keen  wind  seemed  keener ;  the  long,  blue-white  drifts 
more  pitiless ;  the  whole  face  of  nature  more  ghastly 
and  severe,  because  the  sparkle  had  died  in  Esther's 
eyes,  and  the  glow  fled  from  her  cheek.  He  did  not 
approve  of  nuns  ;  he  did  not  like  them  either.  How- 


THE   LAY   SISTER.  287 

ever,  Esther  was  not  made  for  such  a  destiny.  As 
well  might  one  make  the  brown-thrush  that  flits  from 
one  swinging  branch  to  another,  and  pours  its  won 
drous  flood  of  joyful  song  along  the  summer  air  till 
the  hearer  can  scarce  believe  such  delicious  madness 
is  not  human  and  expressive  of  sentient  joy,  into  a 
cooped  barn-yard  fowl,  that  crawks,  and  cheeps,  and 
knows  no  other  delight  than  to  peck  its  corn  and 
brood  above  its  embryo  offspring,  as  put  Esther  into 
Sybil's  life  with  the  prim  and  pious  women  who 
formed  Lady  Huntington's  coteries,  and  hung  on  to 
the  skirts  of  Whitfield  and  Wesley !  Her  real  life 
had  not  yet  begun,  but  Sybil  had  found  her  "  sphere.'7 
She  went  on  her  saintly  way,  set  about  with  prayers 
and  good  works,  cloistered  in  her  own  holy  thoughts. 
Even  when  she  learned  that  John  Stonebridge  had 
fallen  in  the  duello,  slaying  a  brother  officer  as  he 
fell  himself,  sent  into  another  and  an  unknown  world 
without  even  the  short  shrift  of  him.  who  found 

mercy 

"Between  the  saddle  and  the  ground." 

Sybil  showed  outwardly  no  sign  of  woe.  Her  creed 
forbade  her  to  pray  for  that  soul  gone  forever  beyond 
the  reach  of  hope;  and  who  was  to  know  that  she 
passed  night  after  night  with  wide  opened  eyes  and 
clasped  hands,  staring  into  the  darkness  that  sym 
bolized  to  her  the  condition  of  the  man  she  once  so 
passionately  loved;  praying  for  the  submission  and 
resignation  against  which  her  whole  nature  rose  in 
rebellion,  like  the  tides  of  an  angry  sea  ? 


288  STEADFAST. 

Nuns  must  endure  in  solitude ;  not  always  with 
angels  to  minister  unto  them;  for  what  consolation 
can  those  divine  messengers  bring  to  the  first  awful 
passion  of  despair  ?  They  can  but  look  on  with 
sacred  pity,  and  await  the  silence  of  the  storm  when 
it  sobs  itself  into  acquiescence,  and  does  no  more 
futile  battle  with  the  rock-bound  shores  of  fate,  —  or 
Providence. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A    CLIMAX. 

Much  must  be  borne  which  it  is  hard  to  bear, 
Much  given  away  which  it  was  sweet  to  keep  ; 
God  help  us  all!  who  need,  indeed,  his  care. 
And  yet,  I  know  the  Shepherd  loves  his  sheep. 

THE  time  came  on  too  fast  now  when  Esther  had 
at  last  been  persuaded  to  fix  her  wedding-day.  To  be 
married  in  May  was,  according  to  the  old  saw,  to 
"  repent  alway  "  and  earlier  than  that  she  could  not 
think  of,  nor  would  Parson  Hall  consent  to  wait  much 
longer.  He  felt  sure  in  his  own  mind  that  once  irre 
vocably  pledged  to  him  he  could  and  would  win 
Esther  to  love  him.  He  knew  that  Rachel  had 
almost  adored  him,  and  he  did  not  know  what  a  differ 
ence  there  is  between  "  love's  young  dream  "  and  the 
acquiescence  of  reason  to  a  fate  that  seems  unavoida 
ble.  If  at  the  very  last  moment  Esther  had  suddenly 
been  left  money  enough  for  her  comfortable  support, 
she  would  have  gone  away  secretly  and  silently  from 
Trumbull,  and  from  Mr.  Hall,  and  made  for  herself  a 
home  elsewhere  ;  in  spite  of  her  loneliness  she  might 
have  lived  by  herself  with  the  adjuncts  of  servants 
and  luxuries  and  society,  but  poverty  and  solitude, 
too,  had  coercive  terrors  in  their  prospect.  She  had 
to  content  herself  with  delaying  the  dreaded  finality 
as  long  as  might  be,  and  when  at  last  it  was  fixed  for 


290  STEADFAST. 

the  second  week  in  June,  she  resolutely  set  herself  to 
work  at  her  preparations.  "  Can  a  maid  forget  her 
ornaments  ?  or  a  bride  her  attire  ?  "  It  is  mercifully 
impossible.  All  the  arguments  against  mourning  fall 
useless  before  its  power  to  distract  the  stunned  and 
wounded  soul  with  its  persistent  triviality,  to  bring 
back  the  thoughts  that  else  would  go  wandering  down 
the  abysms  of  darkness,  to  the  wholesome  externals 
of  daily  life.  So  Esther,  perplexed  and  distracted 
by  the  coming  crisis,  with  no  one  to  warn  or  advise 
her,  welcomed  with  a  relief  that  was  almost  joy  the 
needful  preparations  for  her  wedding.  She  made 
with  her  own  deft  fingers  the  modest  store  of  linen 
that  was  necessary,  and  edged  its  bands  and  hems 
with  narrow  English  thread  lace  that  dear  Uncle 
Dyer  had  bestowed  upon  her  from  his  dead  wife's 
abundant  stores  ;  from  the  same  source  she  also  owned 
two  goodly  gowns  of  paduasoy  with  brocade  petti 
coats  and  stomachers,  one  black,  and  one  dark  red; 
neither  of  them  unsuitable  for  the  wife  of  the  parish 
minister,  but  yet  too  dark  to  be  married  in.  To 
lighten  the  black  gown,  which  was  of  flowered  Italian 
silk,  she  bought  herself  a  pale  rose-colored  petticoat 
elaborately  quilted,  which  would  at  times  take  the  place 
of  the  black  brocade  one,  and  she  laid  in  plenty  of 
rose-colored  ribbon  of  the  same  soft  shade,  deftly 
tied  in  love  knots,  wherewith  to  garnish  the  sleeves 
and  bodice.  There  were  chintz  and  dimity  skirts  and 
short  gowns  for  daily  wear,  and  Mrs.  Stanley  sent  her 
a  gown  of  white  linen  embroidered  all  over  in  crewels, 


A   CLIMAX.  291 

done  by  her  own  hands  and  her  tambour  frame,  in 
birds,  and  blossoms,  and  creatures  meant  to  be  ani 
mals,  but  unlike  anything  in  the  heaven  above  or  the 
earth  beneath,  or  the  waters  under  the  earth  ;  but 
very  gay,  and  harmonizing  well  with  the  brocade  pet 
ticoat  that  was  a  tangle  of  all-colored  flowers,  equally 
conventional  and  unrecognizable  as  earthly  blooms, 
on  a  deep  blue  ground.  Esther  smiled  over  that  gift 
with  astonished  amusement ;  it  did  not  seem  appro 
priate  for  Parson  Hall's  lady  to  wear  such  a  gaudy 
and  giddy  costume  as  that,  but  she  thanked  Mrs. 
Stanley  prettily,  and  laid  the  garment  away  in  the 
press  for  the  benefit  of  her  descendants. 

She  was  a  little  anxious  about  her  wedding-dress, 
which  she  meant  to  have  creditable  to  Sybil's  gener 
osity,  yet  not  so  fine  as  to  be  useless.  White  was  not 
de  riyueur  in  those  days  for  a  wedding,  especially  for 
a  widower's  bride,  so  after  much  deliberation,  and 
many  doubts,  she  entrusted  the  village  draper  to  fetch 
her  certain  samples  from  New  York,  whither  he  was 
going  for  his  spring  goods,  and  hit  upon  one  that 
suited  her;  a  pale  silver-gray,  almost  lavender  col 
ored  levantine,  with  white  brocaded  figures  sparsely 
scattered  across  its  gleaming  surface,  for  the  gown, 
and  a  thick  rich  white  satin  for  the  petticoat,  with 
frills  of  English  lace  for  the  tucker  and  sleeves.  No 
accomplished  French  man  milliner  of  to-day  could 
have  devised  a  dress  more  exquisitely  fitted  to  the 
wearer  than  this,  in  its  moonlit  tones  of  light  and 
pearly  shadow,  and  when  Esther  on  that  eventful  day 


292  STEADFAST. 

piled  her  dusky  hair  high  over  a  cushion,  and  frosted 
it  with  powder  that  made  her  great  dark  eyes  and 
delicate  brows  darker  and  more  distinct  than  ever, 
and  set  off  the  unusual  and  burning  flush  on  either 
cheek,  and  the  quivering  scarlet  of  her  full  lips,  she 
looked  as  she  had  never  looked  before.  The  square- 
cut  neck  of  her  gown  showed  the  round  white  throat 
and  its  exquisite  set  into  her  shoulders,  but  the  lace 
tucker  was  high  and  modest  as  befitted  a  bride,  and 
her  fair  white  arms  were  also  half-covered  by  the  deep 
frills  at  her  elbows  ;  no  bracelets  or  rings  marred  the 
symmetry  of  those  beautiful  arms  and  hands ;  her 
only  ornament  was  a  cluster  of  the  half-blown  creamy 
buds  of  the  old  white  rosebush  that  grew  beside  her 
door,  set  in  their  own  clean  blue-green  leaves. 

Tempy  Hopkins  had  come  down  in  the  chaise  with 
Parson  Dyer  from  Pickering  Centre,  as  the  parson  was 
to  perform  the  ceremony  for  his  brother  minister,  and 
at  Tempy's  request  they  had  come  early,  that  she 
might  offer  help  and  criticism  to  the  friendless  bride ; 
but  help  Esther  did  not  need,  and  Tempy's  criticism 
was  all  admiration. 

"  My  goodness  gracious  !  "  she  exclaimed,  as,  fold 
ing  her  mittened  hands  over  her  flowered  muslin 
apron,  she  made  a  tour  of  inspection  about  her 
friend  after  the  last  touches  had  been  put  to  her 
attire. 

"  You  do  beat  all,  Easter !  That  gownd  is  jest  like 
a  mournin'  dove's  wing,  and  the  sattin  ain't  nothin' 
but  moonshine ;  seems  as  though  you  was  too  good  to 


A  CLIMAX.  293 

look  at.  I'd  like  a  pictur  of  ye  drawed  out  this 
minute,  for  to  hang  up  in  my  front  room." 

Esther  laughed,  and  the  little  dimples  that  stirred 
and  deepened  her  glowing  cheeks,  and  broke  up  the 
calm  of  her  scarlet  lips,  made  her  still  more  lovely. 
Tempy  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Well,  you  look  as  ef  the  Lord  had  jest  made  ye; 
and  I  can't  say  no  more.  Come  down  now ;  they're  a 
waitin'  for  you,  and  Aunt  Euthy  has  set  out  the  cake 
an'  wine  on  to  the  table." 

Very  slowly  Esther  descended  the  narrow,  crooked 
little  stair,  her  train  rustling  behind  her ;  she  seemed 
to  be  in  a  dream,  nothing  was  real  to  her,  not  even  the 
friendly  face  of  Parson  Dyer  or  the  placid  benignity 
of  Aunt  Kuthy's  lovely  old  countenance,  full  of 
anxious  feeling.  But  her  color  did  not  waver ;  she 
spoke  to  them  both  quietly,  and,  directed  by  Mr. 
Dyer,  took  her  place  beside  Philemon  Hall  without 
even  looking  at  him. 

The  service  was  long,  and  awful  in  its  solemnity. 
Had  Esther  and  Mr.  Hall  been  about  to  go  to  execu 
tion  the  next  moment  they  would  hardly  have  received 
less  exhortation  and  warning.  The  deep  tones  of 
Parson  Dyer,  as  he  exhorted  the  wife  to  obey,  respect, 
and  serve  her  husband ;  to  receive  him  as  her  priest 
and  king  under  God ;  to  submit  herself  to  him  in  all 
things,  and  strive  to  train  her  family  in  the  same 
paths,  sounded  like  a  knell  of  doom  in  her  ears  ;  she 
had  scarce  heard  the  injunctions  he  gave  to  Parson 
Hall,  but  of  these  to  herself  she  missed  not  a  word ; 


294  STEADFAST. 

they  pierced  her  very  soul.  What !  was  this  what 
she  had  undertaken  to  do  ?  Was  she  who  expected 
to  provide  for  herself  by  this  marriage  a  considerate 
friend  and  a  quiet  home,  bound  instead  to  slavery,  to 
submission,  to  that  lowest  form  of  servitude  that 
involves  the  body  but  not  the  soul  ?  She  had  looked 
on  the  whole  matter  in  such  a  theoretic,  dreamy,  ex 
alted  way  ;  exalted  because  her  innocence  and  igno 
rance  afforded  no  other  standpoint ;  that  when  the 
actual  and  practical  view  expounded  in  Parson  Dyer's 
lecture  and  prayer  burst  upon  her,  she  felt  as  if  some 
awful  fate  grasped  her  breath  and  stopped  her  pulses. 
She  grew  paler  and  paler,  her  great  eyes  stared  at 
Mr.  Dyer  with  a  look  of  woe  and  horror,  but  an 
intruding  sunbeam  fell  across  his  spectacles  and  he 
did  not  perceive  her  expression,  nor  did  he  notice,  in 
his  zeal  to  fully  perform  the  rite,  that  Esther  never 
bent  her  head  even  in  assent  to  his  questions  ;  he  only 
thought  her  modest  and  timid,  as  a  good  girl  should 
be.  As  for  Parson  Hall,  standing  there  at  her  side, 
he  could  not  see  her,  and  during  the  long  prayer 
which  followed  of  course  he  closed  his  eyes  properly. 
But  for  Esther  the  hour  seemed  interminable  ages. 

Filled  with  a  mad  desire  to  escape,  to  deny,  to 
retract,  she  dared  not  open  her  lips  even  to  sigh.  She 
had  been  brought  up  in  a  religious  awe  of  the  clergy, 
as  the  very  messengers  and  vicegerents  of  the  Lord 
God  himself ;  what  they  said  and  did  must  be  right. 
It  was  against  her  own  ignorance  and  weak  stupidity, 
as  she  now  saw  herself,  that  she  so  angrily  and  des- 


A  CLIMAX.  295 

perately  rebelled.  Oh,  what  could  she  do  ?  whither 
fly  ?  Never,  never !  could  she  fill  this  place,  perform 
these  duties.  The  illusions  that  had  hitherto  veiled 
the  way  before  her  were  swept  off,  as  with  a  very 
besom  of  destruction ;  her  heart  beat  so  heavily  and 
so  fast  that  it  choked  her;  her  head  whirled;  her 
brain  seemed  to  be  on  fire;  she  neither  heard  the 
auien  nor  the  benediction.  When  her  husband  turned 
to  embrace  her  she  swayed  heavily  forward,  and  it 
was  Priest  Dyer  who  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  laid 
her  at  length  on  the  sofa,  pale  and  cold,  as  if  Death 
had  been  her  bridegroom. 

"  You  go  into  the  keepin'  room,"  said  Aunt  Kuthy 
to  Mr.  Hall,  who  stood  in  his  place,  shocked  and 
bewildered.  "It's  a  swound;  she'll  come  out  of  it. 
Mis'  Hopkins,  can  you  fetch  the  camphire  ?  " 

Parson  Dyer  led  his  friend  away  into  the  next  room, 
and  brought  him  a  glass  of  the  home-made  wine  that 
stood  ready  there,  and  then  left  him ;  for  he  was  a 
wise  man,  and  knew  how  little  our  best  friends  can 
intermeddle  with  our  joy  or  grief. 

Pretty  soon  Esther  came  back  to  life,  with  one  long, 
sobbing  breath,  and  as  soon  as  consciousness  returned 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  gave  way  to  a  flood  of 
hot  tears. 

"  That's  right,  deary ;  •  cry  away  ;  'twill  do  you 
good ;  tears  is  like  the  balm  o'  Gilead,  sometimes,"  I 
know  well,"  said  Aunt  Euthy's  kind  old  voice  at  her 
side,  and  before  long,  what  with  sniffs  at  the  "cam 
phire  "  and  a  liberal  dose  of  sal-volatile,  she  recov- 


296  STEADFAST. 

ered  her  self-control  enough  to  give  Parson  Hall  one 
piteous  smile  when  he  was  summoned  to  come  in ; 
and  let  Tempy  tie  on  her  long  mode  satin  cloak,  and 
round  hat  with  its  cream-white  scarf,  so  that  she  was 
ready  to  enter  the  chaise  and  drive  over  to  the  par 
sonage,  where  she  was  at  once  to  take  up  her  abode  ; 
wedding  tours  being  unknown  to  any  but  the  haute 
noblesse  in  those  days.  She  had  forgotten  that  the 
children  of  her  school  were  gathered  at  the  door  to 
see  her,  each  with  a  little  spray  of  blossoms  j  and  her 
heart  fell  as  she  went  out  into  the  rosy  crowd  she 
had  loved  so  much  and  yet  given  up  of  her  own  will. 
She  put  forth  all  her  will-power  to  return  their  smiles 
and  kisses,  and  they  half  smothered  her  with  the 
knots  of  heartsease,  idle  name  to  her  now,  the  posies 
of  lad's  love,  and  ragged  robin;  the  red  button 
roses,  and  loose-leaved  spiderwort ;  but  most  of  them 
brought  long  stems  of  the  great,  pure  June  lilies,  and 
she  held  a  perfect  sheaf  of  them  as  she  drove  away  ; 
never  again  did  she  inhale  that  languid  odor  without 
a  grip  at  her  heart  that  seemed  to  bring  back  her 
wretched  wedding  day.  The  parson  helped  her  from 
the  chaise,  and  when  they  entered  the  cheerful, 
flower-decked  sitting-room,  carefully  untied  her  cloak 
and  hat,  and  saying  softly,  "Welcome  home,  my 
wife ! "  folded  her  in  his  arms. 

A  long  shudder  ran  through  the  girl's  whole  figure 
and  a  sob  that  was  half  a  shriek  burst  from  her  lips 
as  he  kissed  her ;  again  she  fell  to  the  floor,  cold  and 
lifeless. 


A  CLIMAX.  297 

"  Good  God ! "  said  he  to  himself,  in  an  inaudible 
whisper.  It  was  an  appeal  and  an  agony  together. 

Only  a  few  moments  was  Esther  unconscious ; 
wild  hysterical  outcries  and  restless  motion  suc 
ceeded  her  partial  swoon ;  it  was  well  for  her  that 
the  parson  knew  what  to  do,  his  long  service  with 
Kachel  had  given  him  the  knowledge  and  tact  of  a 
nurse.  Esther  shrank  from  his  touch,  but  he  per 
sisted  in  loosening  her  stiff  bodice,  and  then  made 
her  swallow  a  mild  narcotic.  By  and  by  she  became 
more  quiet,  but  she  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and 
uttered  no  sound ;  and  he  could  only  sit  and  watch 
her  as  a  patient  mother  watches  her  child,  with  love 
greater  than  grief  or  anger ;  but  dreading  to  ask  him 
self  what  all  this  meant.  It  was  well  for  both  of 
them  that  they  were  alone  in  the  house ;  some  delay 
had  occurred  in  getting  the  woman  who  was  to  do 
their  housework,  and  Esther  had  chosen  to  wait 
rather  than  provide  another ;  the  sun  was  westering 
now,  its  low  rays  entered  between  the  ill-closed 
shutters,  and  presently  Mr.  Hall  saw  that  Esther 
breathed  more  calmly ;  the  narcotic  had  acted  soon 
and  strongly  on  her  healthy  organization  unaccus 
tomed  to  medicine,  and  soon  she  turned  over  on  her 
side  as  a  child  turns  when  sleep  at  last  overpowers  it, 
and  her  pale,  tear-stained  face  showed  in  every  sub 
dued  line  that  slumber  held  her  fast.  Mr.  Hall  drew 
a  shawl  over  her  very  softly,  he  dared  not  close  the 
open  windows,  lest  the  noise  should  rouse  her ;  then 
lie  sat  down  again  and  looked  at  his  bride  with  his 


298  STEADFAST. 

heart  in  his  deep,  mournful  eyes.  There  she  lay  on 
the  couch  where  Kachel  had  spent  so  many  long 
hours  ;  but  this  beautiful,  undisciplined,  woful  coun 
tenance  was  utterly  unlike  the  divine  calmness  of  his 
lost  saint's,  or  the  look  of  heart-deep  love  that  Rachel 
had  always  turned  on  him,  even  to  her  dying  hour, 
Eachel  had  loved  him;  this  girl  shrank  from  his 
lightest  touch. 

An  awful  dread  arose  in  his  mind ;  was  this  mar 
riage,  also,  to  be  a  mockery  ?  Had  he  wedded  a 
woman  who  could  only  fear  and  repel  him  ?  What 
had  he  done  to  be  so  visited  ?  The  Bible  that  had 
been  his  guide  and  counsel  so  long  gave  him  words 
now  to  express  the  terror  that  seized  his  soul. 

"  All  Thy  waves  and  billows  have  gone  over  me," 
he  murmured  softly  as  at  last  the  sunshine  left  the 
earth,  and  darkness  fell  upon  all  things  as  well  as  on 
his  heart. 

He  stole  quietly  to  the  side  door  and  sat  down 
upon  the  step  ;  cold  moonlight  just  began  to  glimmer 
over  the  sleepless  and  restless  sea;  there  was  110 
sound  except  the  gentle  break  of  waves  on  the  near 
shore;  he  was  alone  with  this  new  sorrow  —  and 
with  God.  But  God  does  not  always  demonstrate  to 
us  His  presence ;  never,  unless  we  are  eager  and 
ready  to  perceive  it ;  and  just  now  Philemon  Hall's 
soul  was  chaotic ;  his  whole  nature  aroused  to  bitter 
rebellion ;  he  arraigned  in  his  thoughts  the  very 
Master  whom  he  had  so  faithfully  served,  and  said, 
with  Job's  impatient  wife,  "  Curse  God  and  die  ! " 


A   CLIMAX.  299 

Far  into  the  night  he  fought  this  one-sided  battle 
with  the  Power  that  seemed  so  wantonly  to  thwart 
him;  the  moon  rose  high  and  paved  the  sea  with 
silver  scales  along  a  shining  track,  but  for  him  all 
was  darkness  and  silence,  gloom  and  despair,  till 
suddenly  a  weary  sob  smote  his  ear.  Esther  was 
waking,  he  must  go  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE    CURSE    OF    A    GRANTED    PRAYER. 

My  Lord !  How  longe  I  askt  this  Gifte  of  Thee, 

With  Harte  full  sore. 
And  now,  beholde !  Thou  givest  Untoe  me 

That  verie  Store ! 
But  Lo !  my  Loafe  is  stone,  both  Hard  and  Colde 

Oh,  Master!  Why? 
Is  this  Thy  Breade  ?    Is  this  the  Thynge  I  wolde  ? 

Then,  Lett  me  Die  ! 

THE  doors  were  open  through  from  the  south  room 
on  whose  doorstep  he  sat,  which  was  the  state  parlor, 
into  that  behind  it,  the  sitting  or  "  keeping  "  room 
where  Esther  lay  ;  the  parson  struck  a  light  from  the 
tinder  box  in  the  fireplace  corner,  and  went  in  where 
his  wife  was,  with  a  sinking  heart. 

Esther  looked  up  at  him  with  vague,  wandering  eyes, 
as  he  shaded  the  candle  with  his  hand,  and  passing  by 
her  set  it  on  a  tiny  stand  behind  the  head  of  the 
couch.  Then  he  came  back  and  stood  before  her. 

"  Esther  ! "  he  said,  with  cold  restraint  in  his  voice. 
"  You  are  ill,  and  over-worn.  I  would  have  you  go  to 
your  chamber  now,  and  betake  yourself  to  rest.  Your 
box  of  clothing  is  there,  and  your  chest  of  drawers, 
with  certain  of  your  garments  that  Euthy  arranged 
within  it.  Turn  the  button,  so  you  shall  feel  secure 
from  disturbance  ;  if  you  knew  me,  it  need  not  to  say 
that  j  but  we  are  still  strangers." 
300 


THE  CUKSE  OF  A  GRANTED  PRAYER.   301 

Esther  rose  slowly  to  her  feet,  half  asleep,  wholly 
bewildered,  yet  her  ear  had  taken  in  her  husband's 
words  with  the  curious  mechanism  of  that  organ  that 
seems  to  store  up  sounds  to  which  the  mind  shall 
afterward  give  meaning ;  and  seeing  that  she  was  yet 
unsteady,  Mr.  Hall  led  her  like  a  child  up  the  tiny 
winding  stair  to  the  landing  above,  and  reaching  out 
his  arm  pushed  open  the  chamber  door  and  put  the 
candlestick  into  her  hand. 

"  Good-night,  Esther !  "  he  said.  «  The  Lord  bless 
thee  and  keep  thee.  The  Lord  lift  up  His  counte 
nance  upon  thee,  and  give  thee  peace." 

His  voice  sounded  in  her  ear,  clear,  sad,  and  steady ; 
but  even  yet  she  did  not  take  in  the  situation; 
mechanically  she  closed  the  door  and  made  it  fast 
with  the  big  wooden  button,  and  still  under  the  influ 
ence  of  the  narcotic  took  off  her  dress  and  stays,  and 
flinging  herself  on  the  outside  of  the  bed  fell  asleep 
again  before  she  was  aware  of  her  waking;  yet  all 
through  her  troubled  rest  the  sad  face  of  her  husband 
seemed  to  be  watching  her,  and  over  and  over  again 
she  heard  his  deep,  melancholy  voice  say,  — 

"  But  we  are  still  strangers." 

No  such  rest  awaited  Philemon  Hall ;  when  he 
turned  to  go,  he  knew  that  sleep  was  not  for  him ;  he 
took  his  hat,  shut  the  outer  door  behind  him,  and 
with  rapid  steps  made  his  way  to  the  shore.  He 
knew  that  Esther  was  safe  in  her  solitude,  for  no 
tramps  had  been  imported  then  to  terrorize  the  quiet 
country,  and  neither  rogue  nor  masterless  man  had 


302  STEADFAST. 

disturbed  the  homes  of  such  tiny  villages  as  were 
strown  along  the  Connecticut  sea-beaches ;  so  he 
went  his  way  along  the  low  bluffs  till  he  reached  a 
lonely  headland  that  jutted  out  into  the  sea  and  was 
crowned  with  a  few  stunted  cedars,  and  between  them 
and  the  precipitous  edge  with  some  square  yards  of 
short,  dry  turf.  Philemon  Hall  had  been  here  before ; 
it  was  an  oasis  where  oftentimes  he  halted  in  the 
midst  of  his  cares  and  duties  to  rest  his  tired  brain  in 
the  silence  of  solitude,  for  at  least  a  mile  intervened 
between  it  and  the  last  house  of  the  village,  and  it 
was  hedged  in  from  intrusion  landward  by  the 
thicket  of  low  cedars  that  ran  down  to  the  sandy 
dunes  beyond  and  behind  it.  Here  was  no  sound  but 
the  dash  and  whisper  of  the  waves,  and  as  the  heart- 
wrung  man  flung  himself  down  on  that  slippery  brown 
sward,  the  aromatic  cedars  seemed  to  breathe  a  caress 
on  his  burning  forehead,  and  the  strong,  bright  moon 
veiled  herself  with  a. fleecy  cloud  and  soothed  his  hot 
tear-burned  eyes.  For,  man  that  he  was,  Philemon 
Hall  had  given  way  to  a  few  tears,  wrung  from  the 
depths  of  his  soul ;  tears  that  never  fell,  but  were 
only  hot  and  stinging  to  his  eyeballs.  He  had  come 
out  here  to  face  the  second  battle  of  his  life,  and 
from  the  first  moment  he  knew  it  was  to  be  the  hard 
est.  With  his  face  earthward,  prone  on  the  parched 
grass,  his  soul  met  its  Maker  with  wild  anguish  and 
bitter  reproach;  had  there  been  voice  given  to  his 
thoughts  they  would  have  said.  — 

"  Why  hast  Thou  done  this  ?     Have  I  not  served 


THE    CURSE    OF   A   GRANTED    PRAYER.        303 

Thee  faithfully  all  my  days  ?  Did  I  not  give  up  my 
life  to  make  the  love  of  my  youth  happy  ?  Have  I 
not  taken  up  my  cross  and  followed  thee  ?  Lord !  I 
am  a  man,  not  a  saint ;  a  man  with  human  passions 
and  affections ;  hast  thou  given  me  these  to  be 
thwarted  and  stifled  forever  ?  Did  I  not  pray  to 
thee  long  months  for  this  desire  of  my  heart,  alway 
adding,  '  If  it  be  thy  will ! '  and  lo !  now  it  is  in 
mine  hand,  and  it  is  bitter  ashes  !  Lord,  art  thou 
not  our  father  ?  where,  then,  is  thy  pity  and  compas 
sion  ?  Oh,  God !  how  can  I  bear  it !  "  and  he  clenched 
both  hands  into  the  dry,  loose  sod,  as  if  that  grasp 
of  earth  might  assure  him  that  the  creation  was  sta 
ble  and  sure,  however  the  Creator  denied  and  thwarted 
him.  It  was  to  be  noted,  had  any  critical  ear  over 
heard  his  wordless  arraignment  of  the  Lord,  that  he 
took  it  always  for  granted  that  Esther  was  to  be 
respected  in  her  mistaken  position  ;  and  neither  forced 
or  persuaded  into  accepting  her  relations  with  him 
except  nominally. 

Philemon  Hall  was  not  only  a  gentleman  by  nature 
but  also  by  the  grace  of  God  ;  to  him  every  woman 
was  sacred,  under  any  circumstances.  He  had  sacri 
ficed  himself  to  Rachel,  but  it  had  consoled  and  in 
spired  him  to  know  that  she  shared  the  sacrifice,  and 
loved  him  both  passionately  and  purely  ;  to  him  it 
was  the  visible  hand  of  God  that  had  put  an  adaman 
tine  barrier  then  between  him  and  the  sweetness  of 
family  life,  so  dear  to  every  true-hearted  man ;  so  es 
pecially  dear  to  him  who  was  without  a  near  relative 


304  STEADFAST. 

in  the  world.  But  now  — !  Was  this  also  of  God  ? 
Was  it  not  that  devil,  in  whom  he  believed  as  firmly 
as  in  his  Master,  who  had  deluded  him  through 
Esther,  and  was  now  urging  him  to  deny  and  defy 
his  Lord  and  God?  Whatever  modern  speculation 
has  to  say  in  its  plausible  and  shallow  fashion  about 
the  existence  of  a  personal  devil ;  however  the  feeble 
philosophers  of  to-day  may  sneer  and  jeer  at  the  idea 
of  such  a  being,  and  throw  aside  as  "  symbolic  "  and 
"  typical "  all  the  revelations  and  declarations  of 
Scripture  on  this  subject,  it  is  notable  that  under  that 
belief  grew  up  the  strongest  and  most  steadfast  of 
theologians ;  the  most  pure  and  righteous  of  men. 
Why  this  was  so  it  is  not  in  place  here  to  discuss  ; 
the  fact  is  historic ;  but  certain  it  is  that  the  moment 
Parson  Hall  grasped  the  idea  of  a  spiritual  opponent 
making  him  the  medium  of  treasonable  and  abomin 
able  defiance,  his  loyal  soul  sprang  up  from  the  dust ; 
it  was  a  cry  to  arms,  and  the  faithful  soldier  and  ser 
vant  obeyed  it.  He  lifted  himself  from  the  ground 
and  stood  erect  in  the  broad  sad  moonlight ;  it  shone 
on  his  white,  worn  face,  and  dishevelled  hair,  and  lit 
them  with  a  ghastly  distinctness  as  he  lifted  his 
clasped  hands  toward  heaven  and  cried  out  with  a 
hoarse  voice,  "Though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in 
Him!" 

A  light  wind  rustled  in  the  cedars  behind  him, 
sighed,  and  died  away ;  it  seemed  to  him  the  echo 
and  seal  of  his  renunciation ;  as  if  earth  bore  witness 
to  the  vow  he  offered  unto  heaven;  and  worn  out  with 


THE  CURSE  OF  A  GRANTED  PRAYER.   305 

the  conflict  which  had  lasted  for  hours  in  a  maddened 
repetition  of  the  words  here  recorded,  he  crept  a  little 
closer  under  the  stunted  cedars,  laid  his  head  on  the 
turf  and  fell  asleep.  Deep  and  tranquil  was  his  rest, 
for  rnind  and  body  were  over-worn,  yet  it  lasted  but 
one  hour,  for  then  the  day  broke  in  its  June  gladness 
and  splendor,  and  the  earliest  rays  of  the  new- 
risen  sun  dazzled  his  opening  eyes ;  the  carol  of  birds 
had  awakened  him  at  first,  thrush,  and  song-sparrow, 
blue-bird  and  robin  poured  out  their  sweet  exultation 
among  the  sheltering  boughs,  and  as  Philemon  Hall 
slowly  rose  to  his  feet,  the  whole  warm  glory  of  the 
sunrise  burst  upon  and  enveloped  him.  Long  familiar 
words  came  to  his  lips  :  "  Which  is  as  a  bridegroom 
coming  out  of  his  chamber,  and  rejoiceth  as  a  strong 
man  to  run  a  race." 

He  involuntarily  shivered,  but  laid  hold  on  his 
thoughts  with  a  strength  greater  far  than  that  of  the 
runner,  and  setting  his  woe  aside  with  the  hand  of 
power,  recalled  the  fact  that  he  must  get  back  to  his 
house,  —  would  it  ever  be  his  home  ?  —  before  the  vil 
lage  awoke.  He  bathed  his  face  in  a  tiny,  clear  pool 
left  by  the  retreating  tide,  brushed  the  grass  and  moss 
from  his  clothes,  and  walked  rapidly  along  the  beach, 
and  among  the  sand-dunes,  bright  now  with  glittering 
grass,  meeting  no  one,  for  the  fishermen  had  come  in 
late  the  night  before,  and  would  not  go  out  on  the 
ebb ;  and  the  farmers  were  all  at  breakfast.  He  let 
himself  in  by  the  shed,  and  kindled  the  hearth-fire 
for  their  own  breakfast,  then  he  listened  at  Esther's 


306  STEADFAST. 

door ;  she  was  stirring,  so  he  went  down  again  into 
his  study,  and  opened  the  Bible  for  his  daily  reading. 
It  seemed  to  him  a  direct  ordering  of  God  that  the 
first  words  on  which  his  eyes  fell  were  these,  — "But 
thanks  be  to  God  which  giveth  us  the  victory  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ !  Therefore,  my  beloved 
brethren,  be  ye  steadfast,  unmoveable,  always  abound 
ing  in  the  work  of  the  Lord,  forasmuch  as  ye  know 
that  your  labor  is  not  in  vain  in  the  Lord." 

Who  shall  say  that  it  was  not  such  an  ordering  ? 
The  phrases  fell  upon  Philemon  Hall's  soul  with 
divine  comfort,  for  they  re-assured  him  that  he  had 
not  taken  up  arms  without  the  strength  to  wield  them 
in  a  courage  and  power  from  on  high ;  and  the  calm 
earnest  exhortation  to  be  steadfast  in  battle,  to  abound 
always  in  labor,  the  strong  assurance  that  neither 
battle  nor  obedience  should  be  futile,  aroused  him  like 
the  soaring  cry  of  a  trumpet  that  calls  to  war,  under 
a  mighty  commander ;  his'  eye  kindled,  his  face 
glowed ;  it  seemed  little  at  that  moment  to  give  up 
all  human  consolation,  all  sweetness  and  refreshing 
that  life  below  can  bring ;  he  was  ready  to  die  for  the 
Captain  of  his  assured  salvation.  Alas  !  he  had  yet 
to  find  how  much  harder  it  is  to  live  for  Him ! 

He  heard  Esther  come  down  the  stair,  but  he  did 
not  stir.  She  had  been  instructed  in  the  ways  and 
means  of  the  kitchen  some  weeks  before  by  Aunt 
Ruthy,  one  day  when  the  minister  had  gone  out  of 
town  to  an  association ;  and  she  knew  that  kindly 
parishioners  had  stocked  the  pantry  and  storeroom 


THE  CURSE  OF  A  GRANT KD  PRAYER.    307 

with  supplies  ;  she  was  not  ignorant  of  her  duties,  she 
set  the  round  table  for  two,  and  soon  savory  odors  of 
"saxafrax"  tea,  shortcake  blistering  before  the  fire, 
rashers  of  frizzling  bacon,  and  eggs  frying  in  the  pan, 
mingled  with  the  breath  of  damask  roses  and  spicy 
pinks  that  came  in  at  the  open  windows.  It  was  a 
breakfast  to  make  a  modern  hygeist  shudder,  but  in 
those  days  men  and  women  were  unconscious  of  their 
stomachs,  and  the  sufferer  from  what  we  call  dyspep 
sia,  was  merely  'considered  bad-tempered.  Are  they 
still  convertible  terms  ? 

The  minister  entered  the  dining-room  at  Esther's 
timid  call,  and  bade  her  "good-day,"  gravely;  then 
he  asked  the  accustomed  blessing,  but  asked  it  with 
so  solemn  a  voice  and  in  such  an  unusual  phraseology 
that  Esther  felt  her  awe  of  him  increase.  Breakfast 
was  eaten  in  silence,  —  it  might  have  been  apples  of 
Sodom  to  Parson  Hall  rather  than  staple  and  indiges 
tible  viands,  for  all  the  savor  it  had  to  his  palate,  and 
Esther  too  had  lost  her  healthy  appetite. 

Who  can  eat  on  the  brink  of  a  crisis  ?  Our  diges 
tive  apparatus  resents  inattention  as  perversely  as  a 
child.  When  one  is  deeply  and  painfully  absorbed  in 
some  important  matter  or  some  awful  and  possessing 
grief,  it  is  worse  than  useless  to  eat ;  yet  we  all  try 
to  go  through  our  recurrent  meals  and  keep  up  a  pre 
tence  of  hunger.  It  is  one  of  the  painful  conventions, 
far  better  set  aside  than  observed. 

The  minister  went  in  again  to  his  study  while 
Esther  removed  and  washed  her  dishes ;  but  as  he 


308  STEADFAST. 

rose  from  the  table  he  said  to  her  in  a  calm  and  stren 
uously  gentle  voice,  that  almost  stopped  her  heart's 
quick  beating,  — 

"  Esther,  when  the  morning  duties  of  the  house  are 
finished,  will  you  come  into  my  study  for  a  brief 
time  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ! "  gasped  Esther,  in  a  pained,  childish 
fashion.  She  was  frightened,  and  grieved,  and  fully 
conscious  that  she  deserved  severe  reproof  and  re 
monstrance  ;  but  that  consciousness  did  not  make  the 
prospect  of  such  a  visitation  any  more  agreeable  to  her. 
She  delayed  her  work  as  long  as  she  dared,  polished 
her  few  china  dishes  till  they  shone  again,  chased 
every  speck  of  dust  she  could  spy  out  with  eager 
energy,  and  took  a  long  hour  to  set  her  own  apart 
ment  in  order. 

She  was  not  physically  tired,  for  her  rest  had  been 
long,  if  troubled ;  but  she  was  mortally  afraid  to  face 
the  interview  before  her.  She  felt  like  a  prisoner  at 
the  bar,  already  convicted  by  the  jury,  who  awaits 
the  coming  of  the  judge  to  declare  that  sentence. 
But  at  last  she  could  find  nothing  to  do,  and  with  her 
heart  in  her  mouth,  trembling  knees,  and  short-com 
ing  breath,  she  stole  down  the  queer  little  staircase, 
and  passing  by  the  dim  parlor  redolent  of  the  great  pot 
pourri  jars  on  the  hearth  and  a  faint  scent  of  camphor 
from  the  Indian  matting,  she  knocked  gently,  but  dis 
tinctly,  at  the  study  door. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

A     COMPACT. 

Patience!  patience!  though  heart  should  break,  contend  not 
with  God  in  heaven. 

PARSON  HALL  opened  it.  He  set  a  chair  for  her  on 
one  side  of  the  quaint,  many-legged  ebony  table,  on 
.  which  lay  his  books  of  daily  reference,  and  his  sermon 
paper,  and  said  at  once,  in  a  gentle,  constrained,  yet 
steady  voice,  — 

"  Esther,  my  friend,  you  and  I  have  made  a  griev 
ous  mistake.  I  would  you  had  told  me  that  you 
were  not  prepared  in  your  mind  to  be  my  wife." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Esther,  in  a  piteous  tone,  "  I  was 
wrong !  I  had  nobody  to  tell  me,  and  I  was  so 
lonely ! " 

Mr.  Hall  heard  between  the  faltering  words  far 
more  than  they  said. 

"  Nay,  my  dear !  I  was  most  to  blame.  I  let  the 
strength  and  sweetness  of  human  affection  hurry  me 
on,  not  regarding  your  youth  and  solitude,  as  was  fit 
ting.  Esther,  we  have  laid  our  hands  upon  the  ark  of 
the  Lord,  hastily  and  carelessly,  and  He  hath  smitten 
us ;  we  have  taken  upon  us  solemn  and  awful  vows, 
and  for  me  there  is  no  release,  for  I  took  them  with 
full  understanding  and  purpose ;  but  you  knew  not 
the  thing  that  you  did.  It  was  even  as  you  say,  there 

309 


310  STEADFAST. 

was  none  to  advise  or  warn  you.  By  the  authority  of 
my  ministry  I  release  you  from  the  promise  made  in 
your  ignorance,  so  far  as  it  is  repugnant  to  your  soul. 
I  shall  no  longer  ask  you  to  love  me ;  but  I  cannot 
free  you  from  the  outward  bond  that  fetters  us. 
Give  me  the  respect  and  obedience  you  can  give  to 
a  minister  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  to  whose  flock 
you  belong,  and  I  will  ask  for  no  more.  I  will  treat 
you  as  a  dear  and  honored  friend,  and  respect  your 
wishes  in  all  things.  We  cannot  separate,  we  must 
b^ar  our  sorrows  together.  I  dare  not  afford  occasion 
for  the  enemy  to  revile  by  the  scandal  of  putting  you 
away.  Neither  man  nor  woman  must  intermeddle 
with  our  life.  It  savors  of  deception,  I  well  know  so 
to  live ;  but  I  see  no  other  way  to  take,  and  I  have 
prayed  earnestly  for  divine  guidance.  Shall  it  be  so, 
Esther  ?  " 

The  girl  bent  her  face  on  her  hands  and  sobbed 
bitterly.  By  one  of  those  strange,  inexplicable  re 
vulsions  of  feeling,  peculiar  to  women,  she  had  never 
come  so  near  loving  Philemon  Hall  as  now  when  he 
virtually  divorced  her.  He  stood  there,  strong  and 
calm,  his  face  lit  with  spiritual  beauty,  almost  to  her 
like  some  angel  of  judgment  uttering  her  condem 
nation,  and  putting  her  beyond  the  confines  of  hope 
and  joy  for  all  time.  Her  sobs  wrung  the  parson's 
heart,  but  he  dared  not  attempt  to  console  her,  lest  his 
own  self-control  should  be  shaken.  He  repeated  the 
question. 

"  Shall  it  be  so  ?  "  and  his  voice  was  stern  and  cold. 


A   COMPACT.  311 

Esther  lifted  her  tear-stained  face  and  bent  her  head. 
In  her  simple  gown  and  carelessly  arranged  hair,  with 
that  tearful  countenance  and  those  quivering  scarlet 
lips,  she  looked  like  a  sweet  chidden  child,  and  the 
longing  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her,  rose 
so  fiercely  into  Philemon  Hall's  heart  that  he  turned 
suddenly  and  left  the  room,  well  knowing  that  in 
every  conflict  to  retreat  is  sometimes  more  needful 
than  to  fight. 

Esther  stole  away  to  her  own  chamber  and  sat  down 
to  consider  what  must  be  done.  She  knew  very  well 
that  after  dinner  one  and  another  of  the  parish 
women  would  drop  in  to  congratulate,  inspect,  advise, 
and  inquire,  and  she  must  be  ready  to  receive  them, 
but  first  she  must  adjust  herself  a  little  to  the  situa 
tion;  she  prepared  the  apartment  she  occupied  for 
her  husband,  it  had  always  been  his  room ;  and  she 
unpacked  and  removed  her  own  possessions  to  another 
back  of  that  one,  where  Aunt  Ruthy  had  formerly 
slept.  She  had  observed,  with  feminine  quickness, 
that  Parson  Hall  had  never  even  implied  a  possibility 
of  change  in  her  or  in  himself ;  given  no  hint  or  inti 
mation  that  in  all  time  she  might  ever  learn  to  love 
him,  or  he  forget  how  she  had  deceived  and  wounded 
him.  It  was  best  so ;  yet  as  she  looked  forward  to 
this  dreary  life  of  continual  pretence  and  loveless 
intimacy,  her  girl's  heart  shuddered  at  the  prospect, 
and  she  sighed  often  as  she  went  about  the  house,  and 
thought  of  the  monotonous,  untrue,  harrassing  days 
she  must  spend  there.  But  there  was  work  to  be 


312  STEADFAST. 

done,  she  could  not  sit  down  and  vex  her  soul ;  work  ! 
the  one  blessing  of  life,  lay  close  at  hand.  Work  ! 
the  too-well-disguised  angel  of  daily  life,  the  com 
forter  that  makes  living  possible  to  the  loneliest  soul, 
the  most  desolate  heart :  the  blessing  in  disguise  that 
kept  our  first  parents  from  dying  of  home-woe  for 
their  lost  Eden.  Who  shall  sing  its  praises  fitly  ? 
Who  canonize  Saint  Labor  ?  Who  raise  a  carmen 
triumphale  to  that  which  humanity  miscalls  a  curse  ? 

In  the  vindications  and  revelations  of  another 
world,  we  shall  know  that  of  all  mortal  blessings  and 
balms  the  power  and  opportunity  to  work  was  the 
greatest,  but  here  we  are  blind,  because  we  are  mortal. 

Mr.  Hall  spent  the  morning  in  his  study  after 
Esther  left  him.  He  poured  out  his  soul  on  his  ser 
mon;  never  before  in  all  his  ministry  at  Trumbull 
had  he  written  such  a  discourse.  It  had  for  its  text 
the  verse  to  which  his  Bible  had  opened  that  morn 
ing,  "  Be  ye  steadfast,  unmoveable,  always  abounding 
in  the  work  of  the  Lord."  He  wrote  on  and  on  in 
the  fervor  of  his  experience,  and  could  scarce  bear  to 
leave  the  work  when  Esther  called  him  to  dinner, 
but  according  to  his  custom  as  soon  as  the  meal  was 
over,  he  went  abroad  to  visit  some  of  his  parishioners 
who  were  ill  or  sorrow  stricken  in  the  outlying  parts 
of  the  parish.  It  had  been  one  of  his  dreams  that 
Esther  and  he  should  take  these  long  drives  together 
through  the  beautiful  country  in  its  fresh  summer 
leanness  and  perfume,  but  now  he  preferred  to  walk ; 
the  new  chaise,  the  gentle,  swift  horse  provided  for 


A   COMPACT.  313 

her  pleasure,  might  stay  in  the  bam  ;  he  could  not 
yet  face  a  solitary  drive ;  he  must  weary  himself 
with  sharp  bodily  exercise,  the  better  to  control  his 
inward  grief  and  disappointment.  He  walked  at 
his  best  pace ;  the  shining  grasses  of  the  shore 
never  caught  his  eye,  nor  did  the  soft  plash  and 
whispering  recoil  of  the  rising  tide  attract  his  ea**; 
he  gave  no  heed  to  the  young  lambs  frisking  on 
the  salt  meadows,  nor  when  his  long  road  turned 
into  the  inner  country,  did  lie  observe  the  crowds 
of  mild  blue  sand-violets  with  golden  eyes  smil 
ing  upward  to  the  kindred  blue  of  the  June  heaven, 
nor  yet  the  tiny  thickets  of  gray -green  sweet  fern, 
full  of  young  brown  catkins  ;  the  clear  red  of  oak- 
sprouts  beside  the  wood  path ;  the  shimmer  of  emer 
ald  light  downward  through  new  leaves  of  maple 
and  birch;  the  velvet-banded  boles  of  old  gray- 
barked  beeches  leaning  forward  toward  him.  All 
these  he  passed  unheeded,  even  the  round  innocent 
pink  buds  with  here  and  there  a  calm,  open  blossom 
that  were  clustered  on  the  apple-trees  in  their  abun 
dant  promise,  and  the  long  rods  of  roseate  bloom  on 
late  fruiting  peach-trees,  or  the  snow  of  stainless 
pear-blossoms  were  all  vague  to  his  eye;  he  saw 
nothing  but  Esther,  dove-like  and  womanly  in  her 
bridal  garb,  or  childishly,  piteously  sweet,  in  her 
flowered  chintz  skirt  and  white  short  gown,  burying 
her  face  in  her  hands,  or  lifting  it  again  with  tearful 
submission. 

It   almost  seemed  to  Philemon  Hall  that  he  was 


314  STEADFAST. 

haunted  by  that  lovely  ghost  of  the  past  and  the 
future.  He  bared  his  burning  head  to  the  summer 
breezes  as  he  went,  and  sent  his  whole  soul  upward 
in  prayer  for  help.  The  very  effort  to  lift  his 
thoughts  beyond  himself  had  its  own  power  to  quiet 
them,  and  bodily  fatigue  gave  a  certain  languor  to  his 
weary  soul  that  made  it  easier  to  control.  Had  he 
stopped  to  philosophize,  now  was  the  time  to  inspect 
and  wonder  at  the  curious  admixture  of  spirit  and 
matter  that  goes  to  the  make-up  of  human  beings  ; 
but  Philemon  Hall  was  a  simple,  direct,  earnest  man  ; 
simple  in  the  way  that  Fenelon  eulogizes :  he  would 
not,  could  not,  dissect  his  own  spiritual  nature,  "  peep 
and  botanize,"  thereon  to  satisfy  his  curiosity;  he 
had  duties  to  fulfil,  and  war  to  wage  with  the  world, 
the  flesh,  and  the  devil ;  the  solitude  of  these  lonely 
country  roads  was  the  mountain-top  where  he  must 
meet  and  fight  the  enemy ;  it  mattered  nothing  to 
him  that  he  was  himself  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
made ;  that  was  God's  doing ;  his  part  was  to  put  on 
the  whole  armor  of  God  and  "having  done  all,  to 
stand." 

While  he  was  striding  over  field  and  hill,  Esther 
was  making  ready  for  the  inevitable  visitors.  It  was 
most  in  accord  with  her  feelings  to  put  on  the  black 
dress  that  had  been  Aunt  Dyer's ;  but  it  looked  so 
sombre  that  she  could  not  forbear  lighting  it  up  with 
a  bunch  of  June  pinks  pinned  on  to  her  stomacher  ; 
she  had  brushed  all  the  powder  from  her  hair,  and  its 
dark  rich  masses  made  her  pallor  more  apparent,  for 


A   COMPACT.  315 

except  in  her  lips  there  was  not  a  trace  of  color  in 
her  whole  countenance.  She  seated  herself  in  the 
window  and  took  up  a  small  tambour-frame  ;  she  could 
not  sit  idle,  she  dared  not ;  she  was  afraid  of  her  own 
thoughts.  Soon  after  she  had  assumed  her  position, 
a  chariot  rolled  up  to  the  door,  a  footman  descended, 
and  a  smart  knock  heralded  Madam  Stanley.  Esther 
dropped  a  formal  courtesy  as  she  ushered  the  gor 
geous  and  stately  lady  into  her  low  parlor. 

"  Well,  Madam  Hall,"  began  Mrs.  Stanley.  "  I  am 
pleased  to  be  the  first  to  congratulate  thee ;  but  where 
is  your  maid  ?  It  is  scarce  seemly  for  you  to  attend 
the  door  yourself." 

"I  have  no  maid,  Madam  Stanley,"  said  Esther 
with  quiet  pride. 

"  No  maid  ?  tut !  tut !  child  ;  this  will  never  do. 
I  had  thought  the  Hadsell  wench  was  coming  to 
thee." 

"  She  is  not,"  replied  Esther,  curtly. 

"  Hum !  airs  and  graces  already  !  Child,  thou  art 
over-proud  for  a  parson's  dame.  And  where  is  Par 
son  Hall  ?  " 

"  He  hath  gone  to  visit  some  sick  ones  over  Hill 
side  way." 

«  Not  that  brat  of  John  Stonebridge's  ?  " 

"  Nay,  madam  ;  somewhat  further  I  think  ;  he  hath 
gone  toward  Dog's  Misery  to  see  the  farmer  at  Chuck- 
ster's  Mill." 

"  Methinks  he  is  more  than  lawfully  quick  to  go 
about  his  business  so  soon.  Doth  not  the  Scripture 


316  STEADFAST. 

say  that,  —  <  When  a  man  hath  taken  a  new  wife,  he 
shall  not  go  out  to  war,  neither  shall  he  be  charged 
with  any  business,  but  he  shall  be  free  at  home  one 
year,  and  shall  cheer  up  his  wife  which  he  hath 
taken.'  Parson  Hall  needeth  to  rub' up  his  Old  Test 
ament,  eh,  child  ?  " 

Esther  colored  hotly ;  she  did  not  like  Madam 
Stanley's  overbearing  ways ;  she  had  never  liked 
them  ;  but  she  also  inwardly  resented  the  feeling  that 
made  her  herself  so  warm  in  Parson  Hall's  defence. 
Why  should  she  care  what  was  said  of  him.  Yet  she 
answered  as  a  wife  should. 

"Madam,  Mr.  Hall  liveth  not  under  the  former 
dispensation,  he  is  a  preacher  and  liver  of  the  Gospel 
of  Christ.  I  think  none  will  ever  find  him  neglecting 
his  duties  for  "  —  she  hesitated  a  moment  —  "  his  civ 
ilities  ! " 

"  Hoity,  toity !  so  one  must  not  say  an  ill  word  of 
the  husband,  little  G-rizzel  !  'Tis  sportful  to  hear  the 
chicken  cackle  so  like  an  old  hen.  But  to  be  serious, 
chick,  I  think  thou  shouldst  have  a  maid.  Kespect 
thine  office ;  the  parson's  wife  hath  a  position.  And 
it  is  not  well  that  you  over-work." 

'•'Nay  madam,  I  enjoy  work.  I  think  we  will  con 
tinue  even  as  we  have  begun." 

"  Well,  go  thy  way ;  if  wilful  will  to  water,  wilful 
must  drench ;  but  when  there  come  other  cares  to  fill 
hands  and  arms,  the  maid  will  perforce  follow." 

Esther  blushed  an  angry  crimson ;  she  liked  neither 
the  allusion  nor  her  own  consciousness  of  playing  a 


A   COMPACT.  317 

part ;  and  as  Mrs.  Tempy  came  bustling  in  just  then, 
Madam  Stanley,  after  inspecting  the  room  through 
her  glasses,  with  the  frank  impertinence  of  a  great 
lady,  bade  Esther  farewell,  proceeded  to  her  carriage, 
and  rolled  off. 

"  Proud  as  a  pie,  a'n't  she  ?  "  said  Tempy,  with  a 
sagacious  nod.  "  'Tis  the  old  story ;  she'd  better 
rek'lect  the  pit  whence  she  was  digged ;  her  granny 
was  a  French  papist  and  her  grandsir  a  'pottecary. 
Set  her  up  for  a  great  lady  !  And  what  is  the  time  of 
day  with  thee,  Easter  ?  Alack  !  my  sweet ;  thou  art 
but  a  sad-colored  bride.  Why  didst  put  on  this  black 
gown?  Sure  as  you're  born  'twill  bring  misfortin. 
What  a  tell !  a  bride  in  black." 

Esther  smiled  wistfully.  "Will  luck  hurt  a  par 
son's  wife,  Aunt  Tempy  ?  Yet  maybe  I  have  had  it 
already  ;  for  I  forgot  to  ask  the  madam  if  she  heard 
from  Sybil  by  the  last  ship.  Madam  Stanley  is  sharp 
of  speech  and  I  had  much  to  hear  that  I  misliked,  so 
I  remembered  not  my  dear  Sybil." 

"  Well,  child,  there  comes  another  time  ;  Mr.  Hall 
will  ask  for  thee.  Where  is  he  to-day  ?  " 

So  again  Esther  had  to  explain  ;  and  over  and  over 
again  to  the  good  women  and  gossips  who  came  in,  all 
that  long  afternoon,  and  wondered  why  the  parson 
had  left  his  young  wife  to  receive  the  parish  alone. 

They  had  expected  to  see  a  gravely  smiling  bride 
groom,  ready  to  welcome  them,  by  the  side  of  a  bloom 
ing  bride  ;  but  here  was  only  this  pale,  quiet  girl  in  a 
black  gown,  that  might  have  become  her  mother. 


318  STEADFAST. 

One  and  another  queried  about  her  domestic  affairs 
in  the  kitchen ;  some  applauded  her  thrift ;  some  dep 
recated  it ;  the  few  young  girls  who  came,  said  almost 
nothing;  she  was  not  of  their  kind;  they  only  stared 
and  went  away. 

It  was  well  after  sunset  when  the  parson  came 
back,  tired  and  haggard  ;  and  Esther's  face  had  not 
even  the  glow  of  welcome  in  it ;  she  was  weary,  spirit 
less,  and  angry  with  herself ;  all  the  covert  allusions 
and  matronly  warnings  of  her  well-meaning  but  not 
well-bred  parishioners,  through  the  long  hot  afternoon 
had  not  only  disgusted  her  maidenly  nature,  but  filled 
her  anew  with  the  bitter  consciousness  that  she  was  a 
living  lie. 

Poor  Esther !  more  unhappy  parson !  for  if  her 
conscience  was  sore,  he  had  not  only  his  personal  con 
science,  but  that  which  pertained  to  his  office  to  keep 
spotless,  and  he  had  stained  both.  The  sinner  had, 
after  all,  led  the  saint  astray ! 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

DAILY. 

A  grief  without  a  pang,  void,  dark  and  drear 
A  stifled,  drowsy,  unimpassioned  grief 
Which  finds  no  natural  outlet,  no  relief, 
In  word,  or  sigh,  or  tear. 

VERY  monotonous  were  the  days  that  now  made  up 
Esther's  life.  She  had  her  household  duties,  but 
they  were  light,  and  to  her  youth  and  strength  rather 
amusement  than  work  when  she  became  used  to 
them.  She  could  take  the  chaise  and  drive  herself 
wherever  she  chose  to  go,  but  she  never  did.  In 
order  to  keep  up  appearances,  Mr.  Hall  now  and  then 
drove  out  with  her  to  make  his  parochial  visits,  but 
the  drives  were  as  formal,  as  lifeless,  as  appearances 
always  are.  When  they  spoke  together,  it  was  of 
indifferent  subjects,  and  they  spoke  little,  for  with 
that  pensive,  lovely  face  close  beside  him,  it  was 
hard  work  for  Philemon  Hall  to  keep  his  voice  from 
betraying  the  anguish  and  passion  of  his  soul.  He 
could  only  hope  that  in  the  course  of  years  he  might 
become,  through  habit,  as  cold  and  calm  as  befitted 
the  situation,  but  it  was  too  new  now  for  him  to  stifle 
within  him  the  feeling  he  dared  not  outwardly 
express. 

For  Esther  the  matter  was  far  easier ;  she  had  no 
love  to  hold  down,  no  longing  for  any  nearer  relation ; 
319 


320  STEADFAST. 

her  trouble  was  that  her  life  was  one  of  constant 
deception  and  gnawing  regret  that  she  had  in  her 
selfish  desire  to  change  her  solitude  for  the  peace 
and  protection  of  a  home,  placed  so  noble  a  man  in  a 
false  position.  For,  as  the  days  went  on,  she  could 
not  but  admire  and  respect  her  husband  more  and 
more. 

His  fervent  prayers ;  his  devotion  to  his  duty ;  his 
courage  in  reproof  of  evil ;  his  tenderness  to  all  grief 
or  want ;  his  charity  and  his  truth ;  all  reproached 
her,  yet  bade  her  wonder  and  admire  a  man  whose 
like  she  had  never  known. 

And  with  each  silent  tribute  her  heart  rendered  to 
the  excellence  of  his  life,  and  the  strength  of  his 
religious  faith,  came  the  stinging  thought  that  she 
had  given  occasion  of  offence  to  this  pure  soul,  and 
caused  it  to  dissemble  and  pretend. 

Lefi  very  much  to  herself,  for  in  spite  of  her  opin 
ion  of  him,  Parson  Hall  was  by  no  means  a  perfect 
man,  and  involved  in  his  own  war  with  his  inward 
nature  forgot  that  his  wife  might  have  her  own 
troubles  to  face,  and  so  left  her  alone  to  face  them, 
Esther  encountered  a  new  danger;  she  began  to 
think  of  Philip  Kent.  He  had  been  very  far  from 
saintly  or  perfect,  as  she  knew  to  her  cost,  but  she 
had  loved  him  !  In  spite  of  herself  her  solitary  heart 
turned  back  to  those  hours  when  life  had  been  so 
rapturously  sweet  to  her,  and  her  weak  soul  was  con 
sumed  with  the  bitter  regret  of  a  hopeless  recollec 
tion.  She  knew  this  was  wrong ;  she  knew  that  one 


DAILY.  321 

strong  reason  for  her  marriage  had  been  that  she 
would  thus  put  a  barrier  between  herself  and  Philip 
for  all  time ;  but,  as  the  French  proverb  says,  the 
effort  to  forget  only  made  her  remember. 

She  shuddered  when  she  found  herself  thinking  as 
she  sat  by  her  lonely  fireside  at  night  waiting  to  give 
the  parson  his  supper  after  his  long  day  of  visitations 
far  and  near,  how  sweet  it  would  be  if  it  were  Philip 
coming  in ;  how  joyful  to  meet  tender  eyes  and  clasp 
ing  arms  at  the  door,  and  give  back  the  warm  wel 
come,  wait  on  his  needs,  and  then,  sitting  on  his  knee, 
demand  and  receive  the  story  of  his  day's  occupation. 

Ah  !  how  wicked  all  this  was  !  What  could  she  do 
to  avoid  it  ?  How  get  the  better  of  these  perilously 
blissful  dreams?  She  prayed  with  all  her  soul  for 
help ;  she  read  her  Bible  with  eager  diligence ;  she 
went  about  to  visit  the  sick  and  the  poor  j  she  took 
down  the  volumes  of  history  and  theology,  ponder 
ous  and  few,  that  formed  her  husband's  library,  and 
tried  to  read  them,  but  they  were  as  dust  and  ashes 
to  her  girlish  mind.  Often  she  went  over  to  the 
school  and  disturbed  its  order  with  her  presence,  for 
the  children  still  worshipped  her,  and  when  they 
found  she  had  not  gone  from  them,  or  ceased  to  love 
them,  they  began  to  haunt  the  parsonage,  to  find 
their  own  way  to  the  jar  of  spicy  nut  cakes  in  the 
pantry,  to  discover  the  dish  of  sugar  cookies  and 
revel  in  its  treasures,  to  pluck  posies  in  the  formal 
garden,  and  dispute  with  the  robins  and  orioles  the 
reddening  currants  and  the  ripening  raspberries; 


322 


STEADFAST. 


Their  little  rosy  faces,  their  innocent,  saucy  prattle, 
as  once  before  were  a  balm  to  Esther's  sore  and  tired 
heart. 

Aunt  Kuthy  watched  her  as  she  went  about  among 
them,  and  sadly  noted  the  wistful  and  woful  curve  of 
her  lips,  the  darkened  eye,  the  melancholy  of  the 
smiles  that  awoke  the  dimples  in  her  still  rounded 
cheek,  and  the  good  old  woman's  heart  ached.  She 
loved  Philemon  Hall  like  a  son;  she  had  watched 
with  the  deepest  pity  and  reverence  his  devotion  to 
Eachel,  his  smitten  wife,  and  she  had  hoped  and 
prayed  that  in  this  second  marriage  he  might  find 
recompense  for  all  his  goodness  in  the  past ;  but  she 
knew  something  had.  gone  wrong  now.  Silent,  but 
observant,  she  had  perceived  Parson  Hall's  love  for 
Esther  before  he  had  been  conscious  of  it  himself,  she 
had  seen  its  strong  and  ardent  growth,  and,  though 
she  believed  the  woman  did  not  live  who  would  be  a 
perfect  mate  for  this  man,  she  was  wise  enough  and 
old  enough  to  know  that  no  one  can  guide  or  govern 
a  man's  predilections  in  the  case  of  a  woman  he  elects 
to  love,  or,  rather,  loves  without  electing.  She  had 
also  been  aware  of  Esther's  liking  for  Philip  Kent, 
but  not  of  its  extent.  She  thought  it  was  but  a  girl's 
fancy,  and  believed  that  when  Esther  discovered  the 
false  and  selfish  character  of  the  man,  and  contrasted 
him  with  Mr.  Hall,  steadfast,  faithful,  and  generous, 
her  early  passion  would  vanish  like  an  autumn  mist 
before  the  sun.  She  could  not  now  picture  to  herself 
any  possible  hindrance  to  the  new  and  happy  life 


DAILY.  323 

that  ought  to  blossom  in  the  parsonage,  but  she  dis 
tinctly  saw  that  it  did  not  exist ;  and  knowing  well 
that  she  could  neither  help  or  hinder  it  by  any  mere 
human  means,  she  betook  herself  to  prayer,  for  in 
those  days  there  were  men  and  women  who  accepted 
the  Bible  as  their  guide,  believed  in  the  Triune  God, 
and  made  their  lives  blessed  and  beautiful  in  that 
faith  and  its  fruits.  Then  there  was  no  open  reaching 
after  a  new  religion,  that  should  conform  its  theories 
and  demands  to  the  reason  of  man  instead  of  the 
wisdom  of  God ;  the  creature  rested  in  his  own  place, 
and  adored  and  trusted  his  Creator  with  childlike 
confidence  and  manly  reverence,  anxious  only  to  work 
out  his  own  salvation,  knowing  that  it  was  God  work 
ing  in  him  to  the  loftiest  and  purest  results. 

So  the  summer  wore  on,  and  before  its  end  there 
came  a  new  interest  into  Philemon  Hall's  life. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  write  there  was  a  legalized 
union  of  church  and  state  prevailing  in  the  colony, 
and  no  other  church  than  the  Congregational  was 
allowed  to  exist ;  or,  if  such  a  schismatic  organization 
or  conclave  persisted  in  existing,  its  members  were 
punished  by  fine,  by  extortion,  by  imprisonment,  and 
by  branding.  Even  the  neglect  to  attend  "  the  public 
worship  of  God  in  some  lawful  Congregation,"  for  the 
sake  of  "  worshipping  in  separate  companies  in  private 
houses,"  was  visited  by  a  heavy  fine. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  stringent  prohibition,  and  an 
inheritance  of  the  old  spirit  that  drove  their  fathers 
across  the  sea  in  search  of  "freedom  to  worship 


324  STEADFAST. 

God,'7  that  worked  in  the  bosoms  of  certain  good  and 
godly  men,  who  read  their  Bible  with  a  different 
understanding  of  its  technical  phraseology  from  that 
of  the  Congregationalists,  and  so  induced  them  to 
declare  to  the  world  that  baptism  by  immersion  was 
necessary  to  salvation,  and  therefore  they  must  form 
a  separate,  and  a  Baptist  church  for  themselves. 
Years  before  this  time  such  an  offence  against  the 
stringent  ecclesiasticism  of  the  Colony  had  been  made, 
by  law  a  serious  matter,  involving  severe  fines,  and 
to  the  clergyman  who  dared  administer  the  commun 
ion  to  such  a  flock,  "  corporeal  punishment,  by  whip 
ping,  not  exceeding  thirty  stripes  for  each  offence." 
It  is  painful  to  record  this  illiberality  on  the  part  of 
those  whose  national  history  began  in  a  protest 
against  the  tyranny  of  ecclesiastical  power;  whose 
immediate  ancestors  had  suffered  the  loss  of  all 
things  for  the  sake  of  spiritual  liberty.  Yet  it  demon 
strates  a  fact  that  should  be  a  powerful  incentive  to 
charity  of  judgment  toward  our  fellowmen  under  any 
and  all  conditions  or  actions,  the  fact  that  human 
nature  is  akin  the  world  over,  subject  to  the  same 
passions,  the  same  prejudices,  the  same  narrowness  of 
outlook,  and  cruelty  of  conceit  in  1620  as  in  1748  or 
1889. 

At  this  period  of  which  we  write,  men  who  avowed 
their  faith  in  the  Baptist  "  heresy  "  were  persecuted 
with  little  mercy ;  they  were  not  hung,  or  shot,  or 
drowned,  but  they  were  cast  into  prison,  stripped  of 
their  substance,  reviled  and  despised,  and,  as  a  natu- 


DAILY.  325 

ral  consequence,  increased  and  flourished  in  the  face 
of  their  enemies  ;  for  that  "  the  blood  of  the  martyrs 
is  the  seed  of  the  church,"  is  a  truth  for  all  ages  and 
nations. 

Early  in  the  winter  following  Parson  Hall's  mar 
riage,  just  when  the  gloom  in  his  heart  seemed  deeper 
and  his  position  more  unendurable  than  ever,  since 
the  cold  without  put  an  end  to  his  long  walks  and 
drives  and  forced  him  into  daily  companionship  with 
Esther,  in  all  her  gracious,  if  pensive  beauty,  her  gen 
tle  household  ways,  and  tormentingly  delightful  pres 
ence,  he  received  a  message  from  the  Baptist  church 
in  Watertown,  the  adjoining  town  to  Trumbull,  say 
ing  that  Doctor  Bellamy,  a  well-known  divine  of  the 
"  established  "  church,  had  preached  to  them  to  their 
great  acceptance  and  comfort,  for  in  the  "great 
awakening"  this  little  church  had  been  aroused  to 
deep  religious  concern,  and  therefore  their  pastor 
had  invited  certain  of  the  clergy  of  the  orthodox 
denomination,  who  were  considered  to  have  caught 
some  of  the  spirit  and  power  of  Whitfield's  inspired 
ministrations,  to  preach  for  his  flock,  "Observing 
that  as  to  the  internals  of  religion  they  could  heartily 
join  with  them,  though  not  in  the  mode." 

^Now  in  Watertown  the  Baptists  had  been  treated 
more  mildly  than  in  the  neighboring  villages ;  and  by 
advice  of  the  governor  of  the  colony,  who  seemed  to 
have  some  especial  reasons  for  favoring  the  Baptists 
in  that  town,  (perhaps  because  Mr.  Milliken,  their 
pastor,  was  his  cousin  by  marriage,  and  Madam  Wai- 


326  STEADFAST. 

cott,  the  governor's  wife,  was  reputed  commonly  to 
be  "  the  power  behind  the  throne/')  the  assessments 
made  for  the  support  of  the  legal  church  were  re 
mitted  in  behalf  of  these  schismatics. 

It  may  be  that  Parson  Hall  was  aware  of  their 
peculiar  immunities  in  Watertown ;  it  may  be  that 
he  was  not ;  in  the  light  of  following  events  one 
thing  is  manifest,  that  such  knowledge,  or  the  want 
of  it,  would  have  made  no  difference  in  his  course ; 
he  was  pleased  at  the  invitation,  for  while  he  did  not 
in  the  least  accept  or  favor  the  peculiar  dogmas  of 
the  Baptists,  his  spirit  had  been  filled  with  indigna 
tion  at  their  sufferings  and  persecutions ;  for  he  con 
sidered  them  fellow  Christians,  honest  and  righteous, 
if  mistaken  in  their  non-essential  points  of  belief. 

He  spoke  of  the  letter  he  had  received  from  Parson 
Milliken  to  Esther  with  keen  pleasure ;  once  more  a 
spark  kindled  in  his  eye,  and  his  voice  recovered  for 
a  moment  its  old  ring.  While  he  had  never  hesitated 
to  express  his  opinion  concerning  the  treatment  of 
the  Baptists  by  his  own  church  in  terms  of  forcible 
distaste  and  denunciation,  he  had  never  yet  had  an 
opportunity  to  prove  his  words  by  his  works;  and 
the  spirit  of  the  man  roused  to  the  occasion;  he 
knew  that  he  might,  nay,  that  he  doubtless  should, 
encounter  some  opposition  and  reproof,  but  it  was  a 
matter  of  conscience  with  him  to  feed  his  Master's 
sheep  in  whatever  fold  the  door  was  opened  for  him  ; 
and  having  written  his  acceptance  and  appointed  an 
early  day  in  the  next  month  to  occupy  the  pulpit,  he 


DAILY.  327 

set  about  him  to  find  some  one  who  should  fill  his 
own  place  on  that  day,  and  then  began  to  consider  on 
what  verse  of  Scripture  he  should  hold  forth  to  this 
hungering  and  thirsting  crowd  of  strangers. 

He  selected  for  his  text  the  curt  and  tremendous 
sentence  "  He  that  is  not  with  me  is  against  me/7  and 
filled  with  the  immensity  and  awe  of  that  declaration 
and  all  it  implies,  he  .sat  down  at  his  study  table  and 
wrote  like  one  inspired.  For  once  he  utterly  lost 
sight  of  himself  and  his  troubles  in  burning  eagerness 
to  set  before  men  their  destiny  and  their  freedom  of 
choice ;  the  absolute  impossibility  of  being  neutral ; 
the  inevitable  necessity  of  avowing  their  position, 
since  whatever  they  said  their  lives  would  deny  or 
assert  the  truth  in  spite  of  their  elusive  words.  And 
from  this  he  drew  fearful  pictures  of  the  hypocrite, 
and  the  open  opponent  of  God ;  and  with  heartrend 
ing  pathos  described  the  penitence  and  acceptance  of 
the  convicted  sinner,  and  the  divine  peace  and 
strength  of  the  saint,  who,  when  the  griefs  and 
losses  of  life  come  upon  him  like  a  flood,  can  exult 
antly  declare  u  The  Lord  is  on  my  side !  I  will  not 
fear;  what  can  man  do  unto  me  ?  " 

It  was  indeed  a  wonderful  sermon,  but  the  aston 
ishing  part  of  it  to  Philemon  Hall  was  its  reflex 
action  on  his  own  soul.  In  endeavoring  to  bring 
others  to  this  standpoint  he  had  arri-ved  there  him 
self,  and  in  the  glow  of  his  enthusiasm,  and  the  shin 
ing  of  this  immortal  truth,  his  own  sorrow  seemed  to 
be  but  a  passing  shadow  driven  off  by  a  keen,  strong 


STEADFAST. 

wind;  he  recognized  the  brevity  of  time,  and  the 
awful  issues  of  eternity  in  their  true  proportions,  and 
felt  a  sort  of  noble  shame  in  that  he  had  not  better 
endured  hardness  as  a  good  soldier  of  Christ  Jesus. 

It  was  an  illustration  of  the  Scripture  "he  that 
watereth  shall  be  watered  also  himself,"  and  though 
Parson  Hall  wrote  far  into  the  night,  he  slept  peace 
fully  thereafter,  and  not  even  Esther's  fair,  torment 
ing  face  looked  in  upon  his  dreamless  rest. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

IN    THE    BEGINNING. 

Mortal !  who  standest  on  a  point  of  time, 
With  an  eternity  on  either  hand  ; 
Thou  hast  one  duty  over  all  sublime, 
"Where  thou  art  placed,  serenely  there  to  stand. 

PARSON  HALL'S  sermon  was  wonderfully  acceptable 
to  the  Watertown  Baptists  ;  they  were  moved  to  the 
depth  of  their  hearts  by  its  earnestness  and  fervor, 
and  it  was  so  strictly  unsectarian  that  it  might  have 
been  preached  in  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  and  given  no 
offence  to  the  Pope  himself. 

It  had  always  been  characteristic  of  Mr.  Hall's 
preaching  that  it  was  devoted  to  the  essentials  of 
religion,  and  ignored  the  trivialities  and  absurdities 
of  man-made  dogmas  and  assertions. 

He  said  one  day  to  Parson  Dyer,  who  at  the  in 
stance  of  certain  old  rigidities  in  the  congregation 
undertook  to  remonstrate  with  him  for  neglecting 
the  stringent  doctrines  of  the  day,  such  as  election, 
predestination,  free  will,  infant  damnation,  and  the 
like. 

"  Brother  Dyer,  <  necessity  is  laid  upon  me  ;  yea, 
woe  is  unto  me,  if  I  preach  not  the  gospel,'  and  I 
cannot  think  that  these  things  be  needful  unto  salva 
tion.  I  am  a  mortal  man,  and  who  knoweth  at  what 
hour  I  may  be  called  to  put  on  immortality  ?  It 

329 


330  STEADFAST. 

behoves  me  while  life  lasteth  to  know  nothing  among 
you  save  Jesus  Christ  and  him  crucified ;  I  leave  to 
him  who  alloweth  us  to  see  but  as  in  a  glass,  darkly, 
the  administration  of  his  government.  I  know  in 
whom  I  have  believed,  and  that  is  all  I  do  know." 

"  Well,  well,  Brother  Hall,  I  know  you  are  one  of 
the  New  Lights,  but  be  it  said  they  don't  seem  to  see 
through  a  millstone  any  better  than  the  old  sort,  I 
cannot  but  think  that  the  grappling  of  the  mind  with 
speritooal  problems  hath  an  effect  to  strengthen  its 
hold  upon  invisible  things.  It  rouses  the  grit  to  en 
deavor  to  reconcile  the  ways  of  God  to  man,  for  it  is 
hard,  yea !  it  is  hard." 

Philemon  Hall's  brain  suddenly  evolved  before  him 
that  June  morning  when  he  too  found  those  ways 
hard  as  adamant,  and  impossible  to  understand,  as  he 
lay  prone  on  the  cliff  wrestling  with  the  will  of  God, 
even  as  Jacob  wrestled  with  the  angel  at  Peniel,  but 
alas !  unlike  Jacob,  had  not  prevailed,  but  had  sub 
mitted.  He  drew  a  long,  sighing  breath. 

"  Yea,  Brother  Dyer,  it  may  be  so,  but  that  is  not 
my  calling.  i  To  every  man  his  work.7  " 

Parson  Dyer  cast  upon  him  a  sharp  glance  from 
under  his  shaggy  brows,  but  said  no  more,  and  Phile 
mon  Hall  thence  and  thereafter  preached  in  the  sim 
plicity  of  the  Gospel ;  but  the  elder  men  of  the 
ministry  kept  an  eye  on  him,  half  of  doubt,  half  of 
distrust. 

He  left  Watertown  on  the  Monday  morning  with  a 
glowing  heart,  for  he  felt  that  he  had  done  some 


IN   THE   BEGINNING.  331 

worthy  work  for  his  Master,  and  though  the  chill 
shadow  of  his  personal  life  fell  upon  him  again  as  he 
opened  the  door  of  his  house  and  received  Esther's 
shy  and  formal  greeting,  he  could  rise  above  the 
clouds  to-day,  and  rest  in  the  serene  atmosphere  of  a 
higher  and  purer  existence,  "  hid  with  Christ  in  God." 
Wonderful  words !  more  wonderful  truth.  As  he 
went  on  toward  his  study,  Esther  followed  him  with 
two  letters  in  her  hand,  which  she  had  just  taken 
down  from  the  keeping-room  shelf. 

"These  were  brought  by  the  post-rider  but  two 
hours  after  you  were  gone,  on  the  Saturday  night," 
she  said. 

He  took  them  from  her  silently,  and  laying  them  on 
the  table  proceeded  to  take  from  his  bookcase  certain 
books  of  reference  with  a  view  to  his  next  sermon, 
and  then  seating  himself,  broke  the  seals  of  the  epis 
tles.  They  were  both  postmarked  from  Watertown, 
where  he  had  just  been ;  the  first  he  opened  was  a 
short  missive  signed  by  forty-two  men  of  that  town, 
desiring  him  not  to  preach  to  the  Baptists  there. 
They  gave  no  reason  why  he  should  comply  with  their 
request,  except  that  they  wished  him  to  do  so,  and  he 
cast  the  letter  aside,  intending  to  destroy  it,  but  on 
second  thought  took  it  up  from  the  floor,  folded,  and 
dated  it  on  the  outside,  and  opened  the  other.  This 
was  equally  brief,  but  came  from  a  brother  clergy 
man,  the  Keverend  Mr.  Miles,  of  Eastport,  a  town  of 
the  consociation  to  which  Trumbull  and  Watertown 
belonged,  advising  him  in  a  friendly  but  peremptory 


332 


STEADFAST. 


way,  not  to  preach  in  the  Baptist  meeting-house  in 
Watertown. 

Philemon  Hall  laid  this  letter  upon  the  other,  and 
resting  his  head  upon  his  hands  fell  into  deep  thought. 
Why  should  he  not  preach  to  these  few  sheep  in 
the   wilderness  ?   he   said   to   himself.     He   did   not 
thereby  aid  or  endorse  their  peculiar  doctrine,  or  help 
to  extend  it  among  the  townspeople ;  they  were  anx 
ious  sinners,  hungering  and  thirsting  for  salvation, 
and  what  reason  was  there  that  he  should  not  point 
out  to  them  the  Way  of  Life  ?     He  thoroughly  stud 
ied  the  pros  and  cons  of  the  matter ;  in  a  measure  he 
perceived  what  lay  before  him;   he  knew  that   his 
brethren  disapproved  of  his  course,  and  would  oppose 
it  with  all  their  power.     They  could  make  his  position 
very  uncomfortable  at  least ;  possibly,  he  might  suffer 
at  their  hands  the  same  indignities  they  had  inflicted 
on  several  of  the  Baptist  preachers.     But  ought  he  to 
consider  his  personal  gain  or  ease  in  the  face  of  so 
manifest  a  duty  as  this  ?     He  dared  not  decide  for 
himself;  he  knew  that  in   his  seemingly  quiet  and 
mild  disposition  the  spirit  of  the  church  militant  was 
strong  and  eager ;  he  distrusted  his  own  candor  in  a 
point  where  his  soul  sprang  up  like  an  armed  man 
zealous  to  fight  for  the  Lord  against  the  foolishness 
of  men.     Perhaps  his  native  combativeness,  so  long 
and  so  well  kept  under,  not  only  by  the  restraining 
grace  of  God,  but  by  the  strength  of  self-control  his 
bitter  disappointments    had   taught  him,  might  now 
unduly  influence  him  to  set  at  naught  the  warnings 


IN  THE   BEGINNING.  333 

and  wishes  of  his  brethren,  because  to  him  they 
seemed  idle  and  futile. 

It  did  not  once  occur  to  him  that  he  could  be  in 
fluenced  by  the  popularity  he  might  acquire  among 
his  Baptist  people,  for  he  was  not  a  vain  or  a  con 
ceited  man.  He  was  honest  and  self-distrustful,  and 
there  remained  but  one  thing  for  him  to  do,  — to  ask 
counsel  from  on  high.  He  slipped  the  button  across 
his  door,  and  on  his  knees  laid  the  whole  matter 
before  God,  in  humble  confidence,  asking  for  guidance 
from  that  wisdom  which  sees  the  end  from  the  begin 
ning,  and  is  given  liberally,  without  upbraiding,  to 
whosoever  asks  in  simplicity  of  faith. 

There  is  a  calming  and  elevating  influence  in  the 
mere  attitude  of  real  prayer,  that  brings  the  soul  into 
an  atmosphere  whose  tranquil  clarity  shows  the 
things  which  make  up  our  strange  lives  in  their 
true  relation  both  to  this  world  and  another.  In 
the  face-light  of  Divinity  our  souls  see  how  small 
are  the  things  men  count  important ;  how  awful  and 
how  lofty  those  eternal  truths  we  daily  neglect  and 
ignore. 

Philemon  Hall  in  that  presence-chamber  perceived 
at  once  what  his  duty  was ;  how  clear,  how  direct, 
how  needful  to  be  done.  And  as  his  future  course 
opened  before  him,  with  all  its  rough  possibilities 
and  alienations,  he  was  not  daunted ;  for  there 
flashed  through  his  soul  the  words  that  had  before 
guided  him  to  the  battle  :  "  Be  ye  steadfast,  unmove- 
able,  always  abounding  in  the  work  of  the  Lord,  foras- 


334  STEADFAST. 

% 

much  as  ye  know  that  your  labor  is  not  in  vain  in  the 
Lord." 

He  could  have  cried  like  the  Roman  emperor,  "  In 
hoc  signo  vinces,"  for  he  felt  that  the  Lord  had  spoken 
to  his  soul  in  the  word  of  Scripture;  and  he  arose 
from  his  knees,  having  his  commission  and  his  pass 
word  therein. 

It  may  not  be  as  aesthetic,  as  rational,  or  as  philo 
sophic  to  believe  in  the  Bible  as  in  the  "  religion  of 
nature  ;  "  "  hysteric  Boodhism,"  as  a  small  child  aptly 
misnamed  the  new  Asiatic  cult ;  or  that  denial  of  all 
things,  that  says  in  its  heart  '  there  is  no  God ' ;  but 
it  certainly  is  not  as  helpful  or  satisfactory  to  trust 
in  any  of  these  refuges  of  lies,  as  in  the  God  of  the 
Bible,  and  the  Christ  of  the  Cross.  To  them  what 
myriads  of  desperate  and  wretched  human  souls  have 
fled  in  all  recorded  time,  and  found  help  and  hope ; 
what  death-beds  have  they  comforted,  what  lives 
inspired,  what  sinners  reclaimed,  what  civilization 
wrought,  what  social  reforms  inaugurated!  "By 
their  works  shall  ye  know  them  !  " 

Parson  Hall  went  to  his  daily  duties  with  a  reso 
lute  and  calm  countenance.  The  dark  expression 
that  had  deepened  his  eyes  and  set  his  lips  was 
gone.  He  had  told  the  Watertown  Baptists  that 
he  would  preach  for  them  on  the  ensuing  Sunday, 
and  now  in  the  new  courage  and  ardor  of  his  soul  he 
began  to  write  the  sermon  so  promised.  This  time  it 
was  as  un sectarian  as  before,  but  more  tender,  more 
pleading,  and  it  flowed  like  a  joyful  stream  from  its 


IN   THE   BEGINNING.  335 

fountain,  from  the  good  words :  "  God  so  loved  the 
world  that  He  gave  his  only-begotten  Son,  that  who 
soever  believeth  on  Him  should  not  perish  but  have 
eternal  life.'7 

Again  the  earnest  hearers  were  moved  and  melted ; 
many  of  them  professed  to  be  converted  by  one  or 
the  other  of  Mr.  Hall's  discourses,  and  seemed  of  a 
truth  to  have  begun  Christian  lives,  so  that  his  heart 
rejoiced  as  he  said  over  again  to  himself:  "Foras 
much  as  ye  know  that  your  labor  is  not  in  vain  in 
Lord."  But  the  trouble  he  had  expected  followed 
fast  on  the  heels  of  his  rejoicing ;  he  was,  the  very 
next  week,  complained  of  to  the  Consociation  of  Con 
gregational  Churches  of  Newport  County,  as  a  dis 
orderly  person,  in  this  formula,  — 

I,  the  Subscriber,  do  signify,  by  way  of  Complaint  to  this_ 
Reverend  Consosiation,  that  on  ye  10th  day  of  January  last 
past,  the  Reverend  Philemon  Hall  did  enter  into  ye  first  Society 
in  Watertown  and  preach  in  a  Disorderly  Manner  in  Contem'pt 
of  ye  authorety  of  this  Consosiation  without  ye  consent  of  ye 
Revd  mr  Wappinger,  Pastor  of  sayd  Society,  contrary  to  the 
Act  of  ye  Milford  Counsil,  contrary  to  the  Act  of  this  Consosia 
tion,  and  contrary  to  ye  Desire  of  two  naybouring  Ministers,  and 
a  grate  Number  of  Church  Members  in  Watertown. 

PETER  HALE. 

Parson  Hall  was  grieved  deeply  by  this  first  shot 
from  the  ecclesiastical  batteries  of  his  own  church. 
Hitherto,  he  had  enjoyed  the  friendly  intercourse  of 
his  brother  clergymen  extremely.  In  the  denials  and 
endurances  of  his  earliest  home  life,  and  its  social 
solitudes,  —  for  Eachel's  extreme  suffering  at  times, 


336  STEADFAST. 

and  her  chronic  helplessness,  forbade  her  either  to 
receive  guests  or  to  visit ;  and  her  husband  thought 
it  best  not  to  indulge  himself  greatly  in  pleasures  she 
could  not  share,  —  he  had  looked  forward  to  the  meet 
ings  of  the  Consociation  as  a  sort  of  mild  dissipation, 
which  he  could  enjoy,  and  yet  feel  it  was  his  duty  to 
attend.  Then  his  personal  friendship  for  some  of  the 
very  men  who  felt  that  now  they  must  reprove  him 
and  expel  him  from  their  society,  had  been,  —  nay, 
still  was, — very  strong  and  sweet.  It  would  be  as 
the  severance  of  David  and  Jonathan,  should  two  or 
three  of  these  take  up  weapons  of  war  against  him. 
And  now  that  his  private  griefs  had  once  more  taken 
possession  of  heart  and  hearth,  he  had  looked  forward 
to  these  meetings  with  his  brethren  as  occasions 
where  his  weary  soul  should  be  refreshed,  and  his 
feeble  knees  strengthened.  This  hope  he  must  re 
linquish.  How  glad  he  would  have  been  now  to  carry 
his  troubles  to  Eachel,  and  from  her  perceptive  mind 
and  loving  heart  draw  the  sympathy  and  consolation 
men  so  invariably  demand  from  the  nearest  woman 
fitted  to  give  it. 

Could  he,  should  he,  tell  Esther  ? 

The  cold  silence  of  their  daily  intercourse  daunted 
him  in  this  stress  of  vexation  and  dismay,  but  he 
must  speak  of  his  new  position,  in  justice  to  her.  He 
began  to  feel  that,  as  his  wife,  she  had  certain  rights ; 
she  ought  to  understand  what  he  knew  now  would  be 
the  consequence  of  his  following  out  his  ideas  of  duty 
before  the  knowledge  should  be  spread  abroad  in  his 


IN   THE   BEGINNING.  837 

own  church  or  the  town.  So,  before  he  replied  to  the 
accusation  of  the  Consociation,  he  sat  down  by  the 
fire  one  evening  instead  of  going  back  from  supper 
and  prayers  to  his  study,  and  laid  before  her,  as  plainly 
as  he  could,  the  results  of  his  course. 

"And  will  you  go  on  preaching  to  the  Baptists, 
nevertheless  ?  "  she  asked  timidly. 

"  I  shall,  Esther.  I  have  considered  the  matter 
wibh  much  prayer.  The  Lord's  commission  unto  his 
disciples  was,  'Feed  my  sheep,'  and  who  shall  say 
that  these  few  souls,  hungering  and  thirsting  after 
righteousness,  are  not  his  ?  " 

"  But  you  may  have  to  leave  this  church  and  your 
own  people,  if  you  are  steadfast  in  this  matter." 

"  Ah,  Esther,  do  you  think  me  so  poor  a  creature  that 
I  cannot  abide  the  wrath  of  man,  when  I  can  see  the 
face  of  God  ?  Nay,  I  feel  that  by  his  grace  I  could 
take  joyfully  the  spoiling  of  my  goods.  I  must, 
indeed,  lay  the  matter  before  my  church,  to  whom  I 
am  bound  by  ties  not  lightly  to  be  broken.  But  if 
the  worst  you  or  I  imagine  shall  come  upon  us,  have 
we  not  the  promise  that  the  Lord  will  provide  ? 
Yea !  —  "  and  here  his  voice  rose  clear,  ringing,  and 
triumphant,  and  his  face  glowed  as  Esther  had  never 
seen  it,  — 

"Yea!  'Who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of 
Christ  ?  Shall  tribulation,  or  distress,  or  persecution, 
or  famine,  or  nakedness,  or  peril,  or  sword  ?  Nay ! 
in  all  these  things  we  are  more  than  conquerors, 
through  him  that  loved  us  ! '  " 


338  STEADFAST. 

He  turned  away  and  went  to  his  study,  half 
ashamed  of  his  outburst  of  feeling,  though  it  was 
involuntary.  But  his  wife  sat  long  and  late  by  the 
fireside,  thrilled  with  an  indescribable  tumult  of 
feeling. 

Why  was  her  pillow  wet  with  tears  that  night  ? 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

A    SURPRISE. 

There  comes  a  resurrection  of  the  dead, 

Before  this  world  and  all  its  folk  have  fled. 

Past  deeds,  past  words,  past  thoughts  arise,  and  call 

With  living  voices,  that  the  soul  appal. 

We  know,  aghast,  that  nothing  ever  dies 

But,  soon  or  late,  shall  from  its  grave  arise, 

Confront  us,  like  a  spectre,  from  the  tomb, 

And  fill  our  souls  with  fear,  remorse,  and  gloom. 

SOON  after  Parson  Hall  preached  his  sermon  to  the 
Watertown  Baptists,  and  received  the  remonstrance 
and  complaint  of  Peter  Hale,  from  the  hands  of  the 
Consociation,  to  which  it  was  sent,  he  returned  to 
that  body  the  following  vindication  :  — 

To  THE  REVEREND  CONSOCIATION  OF  NEWPORT  COUNTY, 
—  I,  the  subscriber,  having  been  duly  notified  that  a  Complaynte 
hath  been  sent  you  that  upon  ye  10th  clay  of  January  I  did,  in 
a  Disorderlie  manner,  in  Contemt  of  ye  Consociation  and  with- 
oute  Consent  of  Revd  Mr.  Wappinger,  preache  ye  Gospel  unto  a 
Convocation  of  folk  commonlie  called  Baptists,  said  folk  Inhab- 
itynge  within  sayd  Wappinger's  Society.  I  would  hereby  state, 
1st,  that  ye  Honble  John  Walcott,  Governor  of  this  Colony, 
hath  not  pressed  ye  sayd  Baptists  for  their  ministerial  Taxes; 
therebye  Implyinge  that  they  have  Ecclesiastick  rights  and 
Privileges  of  their  own.  Also,  2d,  the  Publick  Authorities  of  ye 
Colony  send  unto  them  their  Annual  Proclamations  of  High 
Days  even  as  unto  other  Churches,  which  implyeth  the  same  as 
Aforesayd.  Moreover,  3d,  I  entered  not  Rev'd  Mr.  Wappinger's 
parish  ;  but  discoursed  to  a  People  in  no  wise  His.  And 
4th,  with  respect  unto  my  preachinge  contrary  to  the  Advyse  of 
339 


340  STEADFAST. 

two  Ministers  and  numerous  church  members  of  Watertown,  I 
am  constrained  to  say  that  I  know  of  no  Rule  in  the  Word  of 
God,  neither  in  the  Saybrooke  Platform,  which  Obligeth  me  to 
comply  with  such  Advyse  and  Desires.  Nor  do  I  see  any  right 
Reason  therein.  And  5th,  I  see  not  that  this  Complaynte 
accuseth  me  of  any  Violation  of  ye  Divine  Law;  or  of  doing 
anythynge  contrary  to  the  Word  of  God. 

PHILEMON  HALL. 

While  the  Consociation,  confounded  by  this  sharp 
rejoinder  from  a  man  generally  held  to  be  so  peaceful 
and  reasonable  as  Parson  Hall,  were  still  meditating 
on  their  duty,  or  their  intentions  in  the  case,  singly, 
or  in  private  council,  Parson  Dyer  was  making  a  toil 
some  journey  toward  the  city  of  New  York.  He  was 
getting  on  in  years,  and  began  to  think  that  his 
duties  as  minister  of  a  country  parish  involved  too 
much  hard  work  for  a  man  of  his  age  and  ailments. 
He  was  racked  with  rheumatism,  that  scourge  and 
torment  of  the  New  England  climate,  and  every  year 
grew  more  unfit  for  the  long  rough  drives  required  in 
his  scattered  parish.  To  be  called  up  in  the  dead  of 
night  to  attend  a  dying  parishioner  four  miles  off,  the 
thermometer  below  zero,  the  northwest  wind  blowing, 
or  the  northeast  driving  snow  like  clouds  before  it, 
exasperated  all  his  aches  and  pains ;  and  he  had  no 
longer  the  strength  of  youth  to  help  him  bear  them. 
His  hands,  too,  were  becoming  stiff,  and  his  eyes 
failed  him ;  he  had  a  little  money  saved  from  his 
poor  salary,  and  a  little  that  he  had  inherited.  He 
did  not  want  to  live  in  a  city,  for  he  loved  all  natural 
sounds  and  sights  j  he  would  have  pined  with  home- 


A  SURPRISE.  341 

sickness  among  brick  walls  and  noisy  streets ;  his 
idea  of  life  now  was  to  buy  a  farm,  and  lease  it  to 
some  man  who  would  either  take  it  on  shares,  or  take 
him,  the  parson,  to  share  his  home  as  a  compensation 
for  the  use  of  the  land.  Looking  about  him  for  some 
such  place  and  person  he  hit  upon  Hillside  farm.  It 
was  good  land,  having  arable  fields,  wood  lots,  pas 
ture,  and  grass  lands,  and  the  house  was  large  and 
comfortable ;  Hiram  and  Delia  did  not  use  it  all,  a 
sunny  spare  chamber  and  the  parlor  below  it  were 
even  yet  unfurnished;  so  having  ascertained  the 
willingness  of  the  present  occupants  to  accept  him 
as  an  inmate  on  the  terms  he  proposed,  Parson  Dyer 
mounted  his  Narragansett  pacer  and  set  out  for  New 
York  to  transact,  if  possible,  the  purchase  of  Hillside 
farm  from  Philip  Kent.  After  a  night's  rest  follow 
ing  on  his  tedious  journey,  Mr.  Dyer  betook  himself 
to  the  stately  house  fronting  on  a  green  common  of 
small  size,  on  the  further  side  of  which  the  sea  broke 
gently  on  the  beach,  and  sprinkled  the  grass  with 
salt  spra}r. 

Philip  Kent  was  at  home,  and  came  into  the  richly- 
furnished  library  where  Parson  Dyer  sat,  with  his 
usual  smooth  and  courteous  manner. 

He  was  not  a  generous  man,  though  he  liked  well 
to  spend  money  on  himself,  so  it  took  him  long  to 
arrange  terms  with  Mr.  Dyer.  He  was  glad  to  sell 
the  farm ;  he  would  have  liked  to  sell  all  his  uncle's 
property  in  Trumbull,  for  he  did  not  want  to  own 
such  comparatively  unproductive  estate;  but  he 


342  STEADFAST. 

wanted  to  extort  the  last  farthing  from  the  pur 
chaser.  Parson  Dyer,  however,  inherited  and  had 
been  trained  in  all  the  thrift  of  a  Yankee,  and  he 
kept  up  his  part  of  the  debate  with  as  much  keen 
ness  as  Philip  Kent,  and  they  were  no  nearer  the 
end,  apparently,  when  an  idea  flashed  across  the  par 
son's  brain. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  looking  straight  at  the  other 
man,  "that  had  this  property  gone  whither  my  old 
friend  meant  it  should,  into  the  hands  of  Madam 
Esther  Hall,  I  should  not  have  had  so  many  words 
about  it." 

Mr.  Kent's  face  suddenly  darkened,  his  eyes  grew 
confused,  his  voice  shook,  he  looked  furtively  about 
him,  as  if  to  collect  his  wits  for  an  answer ;  then  he 
said. 

"  You  speak  of  things  I  know  not,  Parson  Dyer 
nor  was  I  aware  that  I  had  driven  a  shrewd  bargain 
for  my  lands." 

"  I  was  but  recalling  the  fact  that  very  shortly 
before  his  death,  mine  excellent  Cousin  D}^er,  late  of 
Trumbull,  confided  unto  ine  that  he  had  made  a 
recent  will,  leaving  unto  his  niece,  Esther  Dennis,  a 
goodly,  yea,  the  greater  share  of  his  property,  which 
was  not  small.  I  wonder  what  became  of  that  will. 
Mr.  Kent." 

"  How  should  I  know  ? "  said  Philip,  with  an 
angry  flash  in  his  eyes. 

That  was  enough  for  Mr.  Dyer ;  he  could  not  prove 
anything  more  against  Philip  Kent  than  he  could 


A   SURPRISE.  343 

have  done  an  hour  before,  but  in  his  own  mind  he 
was  fully  convinced  that  the  disappearance  of  the 
document  lay  at  the  door  of  the  only  man  whom  it 
profited. 

"  How  should  you,  indeed  ?  "  answered  Mr.  Dyer, 
gravely,  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  Philip's. 

"Let  us  return  to  the  subject  we  had  in  hand," 
Philip  said,  moving  uneasily,  as  if  those  deep-set  eyes 
had  pierced  his  flesh  as  well  as  his  spirit. 

"  There  is  little  more  to  say  on  my  part,"  answered 
the  wily  parson.  "I  have  offered  for  the  farm  of 
Hillside  what  I  can  afford  to  give,  and  what  seemeth 
to  me  a  fair  value  for  the  premises.  It  remains  with 
you,  Mr.  Kent,  to  take  up  mine  offer  or  to  cast  it 
away." 

"Well,  well,  Parson  Dyer,  I  do  not  desire  to  be 
hard  upon  the  clergy ;  I  must  even  abide  by  your 
price  I  perceive.  I  will  have  the  deeds  drawn  up 
post  haste,  and  send  them  to  you  by  a  trusty  hand." 

"And  I  will  then  remit  unto  you  the  needful 
moneys  by  your  own  messenger." 

"Well  said!  Let  us  strike  hands  upon  it.  And 
now  will  you  walk  into  the  dining-hall  and  share  our 
poor  dinner  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you,  but  I  may  not  tarry  here  so  long,  sir. 
Nevertheless,  I  thank  you  for  your  hospitality,  though 
press  of  time  forbid  me  to  enjoy  it.  My  respects  to 
Madam  Kent.  I  wish  you  a  good-day." 

And  with  that  the  parson  walked  away,  secretly 
chuckling. 


344  STEADFAST. 

But  no  such  agreeable  emotion  diverted  Philip 
Kent's  perturbed  soul;  here  was  a  surprise  indeed; 
here  had  a  man  arisen  suddenly  who  knew  the  real 
tenor  of  Uncle  Dyer's  last  will !  What  if  he  should 
tell  Esther  ?  Why,  oh !  why,  had  he  himself  been 
such  a  fool  as  to  sell  him  Hillside  ?  Because  he  had 
been  confused  and  shaken  by  Parson  Dyer's  unex 
pected  speech  was  that  any  reason  he  should  so  have 
lost  his  presence  of  mind,  and  not  only  retracted  his 
demand  for  the  sum  he  fully  intended  to  acquire,  but 
perhaps  shown  in  both  face  and  speech  that  he  was 
not  only  surprised,  but  troubled  ? 

But  for  the  thought  that  Parson  Dyer  might  suspect 
still  more,  he  would  then  and  there  have  followed  him 
and  cancelled  the  bargain,  but  he  dared  not,  as  it  was. 

Why  had  he  not  spoken  of  his  offer  to  Esther  of 
pecuniary  aid  ?  Why  had  he  never  thought  of  at 
once  proposing  to  share  with  her  the  property  that 
should  have  been  hers  ?  He  felt  that  the  first  in 
stinct  of  an  honest  man,  on  learning  the  fact  that  his 
uncle's  will  had  been  made  to  benefit  Esther,  would 
have  been  to  give  up  a  possession  that  never  should 
have  fallen  into  his  hands.  But  he  had  not  even 
hinted  at  such  a  possibility ;  he  had  done  just  what 
a  guilty  and  conscious  person  would  do ;  abruptly 
turned  the  subject,  and  showed  his  perturbation  by 
closing  up  a  bargain  he  had  so  strenuously  refused 
even  to  consider  a  few  moments  before. 

"  Curst  fool  that  I  was  ! "  he  ejaculated  to  himself, 
walking  up  and  down  the  library  floor.  "  What's  to 


A   SURPRISE.  345 

be  done  now  ?  for  sure  he  suspects  me  of  somewhat ; 
I  saw  it  in  his  eye.  Gad !  it  shone  like  a  wild-cat's 
from  a  thicket,  under  those  bushed  brows." 

But  no  counsel  of  any  present  avail  came  to  him ; 
long  did  he  walk  to  and  fro  on  that  costly  Turkey  car 
pet,  in  the  solitude  of  his  goodly  library,  well-filled, 
for  that  day ;  but  with  books  that  chiefly  came  from 
his  uncle's  house  in  Trumbull. 

He  could  arrange  nothing,  trust  to  no  scheme  of 
immediate  device ;  he  could  get  no  further  than  a 
fixed  intention  to  see  Esther,  whom  he  had  never 
looked  on  since  some  time  before  her  marriage,  and 
try  to  find  out  if  Parson  Dyer  had  been  as  communi 
cative  to  her  as  to  him.  But  he  could  not  do  it  soon, 
gladly  as  he  would  have  set  his  mind  at  rest  thereby ; 
just  now  Parson  Dyer  would  be  moving  to  Hillside, 
and  his  road  from  Pickering  Centre  lay  along  the 
turnpike  that  passed  through  Trumbull ;  he  did  not 
want  to  meet  him  again  at  present. 

There  was  nothing  he  could  do ;  yet  strangely  enough 
Esther's  face,  her  voice,  the  soft  delicate  touch  of  her 
little  fingers,  the  cool  fragrance  of  her  lips  began  to 
haunt  him  ;  he  had  but  made  of  her  a  passing  pleasure, 
as  one  plucks  a  rose,  enjoys  its  odor,  lays  it  against 
hot  eyes  or  burning  cheek  for  its  balm  and  breath, 
and  then  drops  it  as  carelessly  as  a  weed !  But  oddly 
enough  —  for  a  man  —  now  that  he  knew  she  was  out 
of  reach  he  began  to  prize  her. 

For  many  a  day  he  was  snappish  to  clerks  and  cus 
tomers  both,  and  as  cross  to  his  wife  as  he  dared  be  to 


346  STEADFAST. 

the  heiress  of  all  the  Stuyvesants  direct  and  collat 
eral  ;  but  neither  they  nor  she  knew  what  underlay  his 
ill-humor,  or  guessed  that  the  fair,  wistful  face  of  a 
girl  came  between  his  eyes  and  his  ledgers  far  too 
often  for  his  peace  or  comfort. 

It  was  far  into  May,  and  Parson  Dyer  was  long 
settled  in  the  Hillside  farmhouse,  before  Philip  Kent 
thought  it  wise  or  safe  to  go  to  Trumbull.  Then 
some  one  who  came  from  that  way  told  him  that  the 
old  house  needed  some  repairs  outwardly,  so  he  had  a 
fair  pretext  for  his  journey.  The  roads  were  well 
settled  along  the  coast,  and  the  frail  blossoms  of  a 
New  England  spring  starred  the  wood-edges  and  road 
sides,  as  Philip  Kent  rode  swiftly  on  his  way  ;  his 
horse  was  fine  and  fast ;  he  was  perfectly  at  home  in 
the  saddle  :  the  weather  was  mild  and  dim  ;  the  south 
wind  blew  softly ;  and  he  was  about  to  see  Esther 
again.  He  never  considered  for  a  moment  the  change 
in  her  position  ;  with  the  calm  arrogance  of  his  nature, 
he  felt  sure  that  when  she  once  saw  his  face,  her  old 
love  would  re-enter  her  heart,  and  with  the  credulous 
faith  of  passion  she  would  believe  what  he  said  instead 
of  what  Parson  Dyer  might  have  told  her. 

She  had  been  married  now  nearly  a  year ;  he  argued 
that  long  before  now  she  must  have  become  tired  of 
"  that  preaching  prig  "  as  he  chose  to  style  Parson 
Hall ;  and  he  imagined  as  he  ambled  along  the  sandy 
road  the  sort  of  welcome  she  would  give  him ;  forget 
ting  that  a  woman  however  good,  gentle,  or  devoted, 
will  always  resent  neglect ;  and  he  had  absolutely  ig 
nored  Esther  for  the  last  two  years. 


A   SURPRISE.  347 

Wise  in  his  own  conceit,  he  cantered  gayly  into  the 
little  village  so  familiar  to  his  earlier  life,  and  draw 
ing  rein  at  Deacon  Swaddle's  tavern  ordered  a  good 
supper  and  their  best  bed,  for  he  was  both  hungry  and 
tired  after  his  long  journey. 

The  parsonage  of  Trumbull  stood  within  sight  of 
the  tavern,  and,  after  breakfast  next  morning,  Philip 
Kent  watched  behind  the  dimity  curtains  of  his  win 
dow  till  he  saw  Philemon  Hall  enter  his  chaise,  alone, 
and  drive  off ;  it  was  not  Mr.  Kent's  intent  to  see 
Esther's  husband,  if  he  could  help  it ;  out  of  the  gate 
he  strolled  in  leisurely  fashion,  plucking  the  first  bud 
of  the  cinnamon  rose-bush  by  the  door  that  had  yet 
shown  a  line  of  red  along  its  taper  verdure,  and  twirl 
ing  it  betwixt  thumb  and  finger  as  he  went  his  way. 

The  old  red  house  at  which  he  halted  was  still  and 
peaceful  in  the  hush  of  the  spring  morning,  but  he 
broke  the  silence  with  a  loud  sharp  peal  on  the 
knocker,  heard  hurried  steps  approach,  and  at  once 
the  upper  half  of  the  wide  hutch  door  flew  open  and 
in  that  quaint  frame,  showing  like  an  old  picture 
against  the  dark  background  of  the  inner  house,  stood 
Esther. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

NO  ! 

Late,  late,  too  late !  Ye  cannot  enter  now. 

ESTHER  looked  at  Philip  Kent  in  pale  silence ;  he 
doffed  his  hat  to  her  with  a  strange  thrill  of  emotion, 
by  no  means  all  pleasure. 

It  seemed  an  hour,  it  was  not  half  a  minute,  when 
she  opened  her  rigid  lips,  and  unbolting  the  lower  half 
of  the  door,  said,  — 

"  Will  you  enter  ?  " 

Philip  Kent  walked  in,  and  placed  himself  on  the 
chintz  sofa  in  the  parlor,  he  hardly  knew  why  ;  but 
Esther,  instead  of  sitting  down  beside  him,  took  a  tall 
chair  opposite,  evidently  a  chair  of  state  in  her  eyes. 

She  did  not  say  a  word ;  she  sat  like  the  legendary 
ghost,  waiting  to  be  accosted. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  see  you  looking  so  well,  Madam 
Hall,"  said  Philip,  at  last,  with  courteous  conven 
tionality. 

"  I  thank  you.  I  am  well,"  was  the  cold  reply ; 
yet  Esther's  heart  beat  fast  and  loud  under  her 
bodice.  She  had  tried  day  after  day  not  to  dream  of 
this  meeting,  not  to  think  what  joy  it  would  be  to  see 
Philip  again,  for  she,  like  Guinevere,  believed 

—  "  What  is  true  repentance,  but  in  thought,  — 
Not  even  in  inmost  thought  to  think  again 
The  sins  that  made  the  past  so  pleasant  to  us." 
348 


NO !  349 

And  lo!  there  was  no  joy.  She  was  not  glad,  but 
troubled. 

Some  strange  terror  of  loss  and  want  filled  her 
soul  ;  she  did  not  comprehend  that  she  had  lived  for 
a  year  in  an  atmosphere  as  alien  to  a  character  like 
Philip  Kent's  as  possible  ;  while  he  had  been  steadily 
deteriorating,  she  had  all  unconsciously  been  lifted  to 
a  higher  plane  of  thought  and  life. 

This  man's  face  showed  the  result  of  self-indulgence 
and  dissipation ;  marriage  had  not  refined  but  hard 
ened  and  degraded  it ;  for  while  Philip  gave  way  to 
Annetje's  will  and  way,  for  the  sake  of  keeping  in  her 
good  graces  in  order  to  profit  by  her  money,  he  had 
yet  enough  pride  left  to  despise  himself  for  his  abject 
compliance,  and  his  cowardly  terror  of  her  hot  temper. 

His  eyes  had  lost  the  clearness  of  youth;  they 
looked  tired  and  dim  ;  his  face  was  sodden  with  wine- 
bibbing  and  late  hours  ;  his  hair  prematurely  threaded 
with  gray  ;  and  his  loose  under-lip  hung  more  heavily 
downward.  He  had  fretted  and  rebelled  at  first 
against  the  thorns  in  the  lot  he  had  chosen ;  and  find 
ing  this  in  vain,  had  drawn  his  native  selfishness 
about  him  ^M  a  heavy  mantle,  and  choked  out  under 
that  close  Bering  every  aspiration  toward  good. 

He  neec  aly  added  years  to  become  that  burden 
to  human^  doleful,  whining,  complaining,  self- 

centred  h;  ondriac ;  at  once  a  tyrant  and  a  scorn 

to  all  aboi  ;  a  man  slowly  drawing  nigh  to  the 

grave,  dov  vith  the  contempt  and  dislike  of  his 

fellows,  fo  men  never  die  young. 


350  STEADFAST. 

Even  his  appearance  at  her  door  after  his  long 
neglect  of  her,  added  to  Esther's  swift  disillusion  ; 
she  divined  instinctively  that  it  was  not  sentiment 
which  had  brought  him,  but  some  scheme. 

She  had  lived  long  enough  side  by  side  with  Phile 
mon  Hall  now  to  understand,  partially,  the  beauty 
and  strength  of  his  character.  She  perceived  in  her 
husband,  a  man  whose  religious  principle  was  the 
power  and  governance  of  his  daily  life,  the  spring  of 
all  his  actions ;  there  was  no  Sunday  religion  about 
Philemon  Hall.  She  began,  too,  to  see  how  perfect 
was  his  truth,  how  manful  his  courage  j  while  he  ap 
peared  to  the  mass  of  men  to  be  mild  and  tender,  a 
man  full  of  sympathy  and  generosity,  she  knew  what 
depths  of  steadfast  valor  and  righteous  indignation 
underlay  that  saintly  aspect.  Even  as  with  the 
Apostle  John,  his  loveliness  to  all  about  him  made 
men  forget  that  he  was  "  a  son  of  thunder  "  ;  though 
the  Newport  County  Consociation  began  to  think  that 
meekness  was  not  Brother  Hall's  strong  characteristic. 

While  these  thoughts  crossed  Esther's  mind,  Philip 
Kent  had  also  some  revelations  of  a  change  in  her. 
Strangely  enough  there  was  nothing  of  the  matron 
about  her ;  none  of  that  status  which  even  a  few 
months  of  marriage  often  gives  a  woman ;  the  result 
of  feeling  that  she  has  a  place  and  is  a  power  in  the 
world.  Esther  had  a  certain  girlish  dignity  about 
her,  but  it  was  yet  girlish ;  her  face  wore  the  vague 
bloom  of  a  girl  when  its  first  paleness  has  vanished, 
and  her  slight  figure  kept  the  uncertain,  swaying 


NO !  351 

grace  of  immaturity  that  lingers  so  long  with  even 
"  old  inaids "  as  an  unfriendly  tongue  calls  the 
eleven  thousand  virgins  of  St.  Ursula.  But  the 
change  to  Philip  was  in  her  face ;  the  large,  tender 
eyes  were  icy  and  proud  now  ;  the  mouth  set  in  firm, 
if  sad  curves ;  the  whole  aspect  of  her  countenance 
was  different,  it  expressed  neither  regret,  nor  love; 
its  weakness  was  gone  ;  evidently  she  had  no  tender 
ness  for  him  left,  —  had  she  for  any  one  ? 

He  inquired  politely  for  Mr.  Hall;  Esther  an 
swered  with  the  same  politeness  ;  he  felt  like  a  man 
with  the  nightmare ;  invisible  forces  seemed  to  quell 
his  energy  and  stifle  his  speech.  He  had  thought  to 
find  the  loving,  complying,  self-lost  creature  who  had 
risked  so  much  for  him ;  whom  he  had  made  utterly 
happy  with  kisses,  and  rewarded  with  sweet  words ; 
whose  heart  he  had  well-nigh  broken,  but  who  had 
yet  again  been  his  tender  and  faithful  comforter. 

Here  was  an  ice  maiden ;  chilly,  proper,  separated 
from  him  by  a  wall,  which  he  could  never  break 
through.  He  grew  confused,  disturbed,  and  incohe 
rent.  He  forgot  that  he  came  to  tell  her  a  plausible 
story  about  the  will,  and  to  confute  whatever  Parson 
Dyer  had  said  or  might  say.  He  sat  a  moment  longer, 
fumbled  for  his  hat  under  the  sofa  where  he  had 
unintentionally  kicked  it  as  it  fell  from  his  hands, 
rose  to  his  feet  and  saying  "  Good-day,  madam," 
strode  out  of  the  door,  cursing  under  his  breath  at 
everything  and  nothing. 

It  was  as  well  for  them  both  that  he  did  not  see 


352  STEADFAST. 

Esther,  as  soon  as  his  steps  died  away  in  the  distance, 
rush  up  the  stairs  to  her  chamber,  and  flinging  her 
self  on  her  knees,  bury  her  face  in  the  cover  of  her 
bed  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  passionate  tears.  Poor 
girl !  she  had  lost  what  is  worse  than  losing  a  lover, 
she  had  lost  love. 

It  is  a  terrible  pang  to  know  that  the  one  absorb 
ing,  entrancing  passion  of  life  has  vanished  forever ; 
no  death  of  mortal  creature  is  like  unto  it ;  for  a  dead 
love  there  is  no  resurrection,  not  even  a  future  hell ; 
it  has  gone  into  utter  nothingness  and  left  a  void 
that  is  fast  tilled  with  self-contempt,  disbelief,  scorn 
of  man,  and  bitter,  biting  prudence.  Where  that 
love  has  indeed  been  the  ardent  and  solitary  child  of 
a  matured  soul,  a  soul  that  can  love  but  once,  it  is  a 
death  by  murder  if  ever  it  does  die.  Cruelty,  treach 
ery,  neglect,  may  stab  it  to  the  heart,  and  the  whole 
life  of  the  hapless  lover  becomes  sunless  and  desper 
ate. 

But  it  was  not  so  with  Esther ;  like  many  another 
girl  she  had  made  unto  herself  the  image  she  adored 
and  fastened  it  on  to  the  real  Philip,  who  was  truly 
most  unlike  the  fair  mask.  It  was  the  loss  of  her 
ideal  she  deplored;  she  was  too  young  at  heart  to 
have  felt  the  consuming  fire  that  burns  on  of  its 
inherent  vitality,  and,  dazzled  by  its  own  supernal 
glory,  cares  nothing  for  the  altar  on  which  it  burns, 
or  the  faults  and  follies  of  the  god  at  whose  shrine 
its  sacrificial  flames  are  offered. 

Yet  for    days    and    months    Esther  went    about 


NO  !  353 

haunted  by  a  vague  sense  of  loss  j  it  woke  with  her 
in  the  morning  and  reposed  with  her  at  night ;  but 
her  interview  with  Philip  Kent  was  after  all  a  relief 
to  her,  she  had  no  longer  any  temptation  to  think  of 
him  or  of  her  past  infatuation ;  it  was  no  longer 
pleasant  to  her  to  remember  her  folly  ;  she  shuddered 
to  think  of  what  might  have  been.  And  she  was 
becoming  more  and  more  interested  in  her  husband's 
struggle  with  the  bigotry  and  tyranny  of  the  Consoci 
ation. 

On  receiving  his  reply  to  their  admonition,  they 
had  resolved,  and  sent  him  their  resolution,  which 
ran,  — 

Resolved  that  the  Eev'd  Mr.  Hall  soe  preachynge  was  Dis- 
orderlie.  That  Mr.  Hall  should  not  Sett  as  a  member  of  this 
Counsil  for  his  disorderlie  Preachynge. 

Upon  this  Mr.  Hall  returned  to  Trumbull,  having 
waited  upon  the  act  of  the  Consociation  at  Newport 
town,  expecting  no  more  trouble. 

He  laid  the  whole  matter  before  a  special  meeting 
of  his  church,  and  was  heartily  sustained  by  them  in 
the  course  he  had  followed. 

A  year  passed  in  comparative  quiet.  Now  and 
then,  by  their  request  and  urgency,  he  preached  to 
the  Watertown  Baptists ;  but  he  supposed  he  should 
hear  no  more  of  the  matter,  when  very  unexpectedly, 
at  the  Consociation  held,  the  next  May,  in  Chester,  a 
fresh  complaint  was  exhibited  against  him.  He  heard 
of  it  accidentally,  but  could  not  learn  the  names  or 
the  number  of  the  complainants,  nor  what  were  the 


354  STEADFAST. 

articles  of  their  complaint.  The  next  association 
meeting  at  North  Newport  drew  up  a  confession 
which  they  sent  to  him,  requesting  that  he  would 
sign  it.  It  ran  as  follows,  — 

Whereas  I,  Philemon  Hall,  was  condemned  by  the  Consosia- 
tion  of  Newport  County  for  disorderlie  Preachynge  in  the  first 
society  of  Watertown :  I  do  now  Aknowledge  that  my  preach- 
ynge  there  was  Disorderlie;  and  I  Purpose  to  preach  disorder- 
lie  no  more,  and  desire  the  Reverend  Association  of  Newport 
County  to  over-look  it;  I  purposing  and  resolving,  if  Opportun- 
itie  favor,  to  go  to  said  Consosiation,  and  acknowledge  the  said 
disorderlie  preachynge  before  them,  in  Order  to  be  restored  to 
their  Favor. 

Esther  was  indignant  to  her  heart  when  Mr.  Hall, 
in  pursuance  of  his  intention  that  she  should  not  be 
kept  ignorant  of  his  course,  laid  this  document  before 
her.  He  smiled  to  see  the  hot  color  rise  up  in  her 
face  as  she  read  it,  and  her  eyes  flash  as  she  looked 
up  at  him  when  she  finished. 

"  Sure,  never  was  there  such  tyranny  abroad  in  this 
land  before !  "  she  cried,  in  an  eager,  angry  voice. 
"  Was  it  for  this  our  parents  left  their  own  people 
and  their  father's  house  to  have  freedom  of  soul  in 
these  howling  wildernesses  ?  Shall  we  have  to  move 
on  amid  wild  countries  and  red  Indians  once  more  ?  " 

"  Eestrain  your  anger,  Esther.  Hath  not  the  Lord 
said  that  he  will  make  the  wrath  of  man  to  praise 
him?  I  believe  that  all  this  seething  and  noise  of 
men's  passions  shall  in  the  end  purify  and  establish 
the  Church  of  God." 


NO  !  355 

His  face  glowed  with  lofty  feeling  as  he  spoke. 
Esther  looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of  awe. 

"  And  what  will  you  do  in  this  strait  ?  "  she  asked. 
"I  am  well  convinced  that  I  have  done  nothing 
contrary  either  to  the  word  of  God,  or  the  Saybrook 
Platform,  unto  which  our  churches  conform  in  their 
belief   and   government;    and   my   conscience   being 
void  of  offence  in  this  matter,  I  cannot  set  my  hand 
to  the  confession  they  have  sent  me ;  but  I  am  will 
ing  for  the  sake  of  that  peace  which  should  reign 
among  brethren  to  write  a  confession  of  mine  own, 
and  offer  it  to  the  Consociation." 
Esther  looked  up  at  him,  astonished. 
"  I  see  not  what  you  have  to  confess  ?  "  she  said. 
"  It  may  be  that  I  have  troubled  the  minds  of  the 
brethren  and  given  offence  to  them  that  are  weak,  by 
adhering  to  my  own  belief,  and  practising  upon  it. 
<  Wo  unto  him  by  whom  the  offence  cometh ! ;     Yea, 
Esther;  though   my  own  conscience  be  clear  before 
God,  and  stayed  with  much  prayer  and  strong  crying, 
yet  were  it  better  for  me  that  a  millstone  were  made 
fast  about  my  neck  and  I  cast  into  the  depths  of  the 
sea  than  that  I  should  offend  the  least  of  these,  if 
by  making  such  confession  as  I  can  truly  make,  I  may 
appease  their  indignation." 

Esther  said  no  more.  What  was  she,  weak,  sin 
ful  creature!  —  who  had  already  by  her  idle  self-love 
wrecked  this  man's  life,  —  that  she  should  put  forth 
her  voice  or  her  hand  to  meddle  with  his  saintly 
career  ? 


356  STEADFAST. 

She  went  about  her  work,  humbled,  yet  warm  with 
righteous  anger.  She  felt  unfit  to  abide  in  the  house 
with  the  saint  she  called  her  husband,  yet  she  could 
have  risen  up  in  wrath  and  scattered  the  men  who 
maligned  and  grieved  him,  if  she  had  only  the  power 
to  do  so. 

But  what  could  a  woman  do  against  a  Consociation 
in  those  days  ?  —  or,  indeed,  in  these  ? 

Philemon  Hall,  shortly  after,  did  send  to  this 
ecclesiastic  tribunal,  a  confession  of  his  own,  which 
they  curtly  refused  to  accept.  His  people  being  of 
the  average  sort  to  whom  a  following  of  the  multi 
tude  is  far  easier  than  making  a  stand  for  right  with 
the  few,  began  to  grow  uneasy  und^r  this  persistent 
disapproval  of  the  powers  of  the  church.  They  loved 
Mr.  Hall,  and  believed  him  to  be  an  apostle  of  truth ; 
but  still  it  was  very  uncomfortable  to  be  in  the  right, 
when  it  separated  their  individual  church  from  all 
the  others  in  the  Conference ;  and  yielding  as  far  as 
his  conscience  would  allow,  for  the  sake  of  peace,  and 
the  wish  of  his  own  people,  he  went  the  next  year, 
when  the  Consociation  met  in  Stamford  Centre,  and 
'offered  three  confessions,  drawn  up  by  himself,  to 
that  august  body.  The  first  ran  thus,  — 

I,  the  subscriber,  do  acknowledge  that  I  preached  in  Water- 
town,  within  the  bounds  of  the  first  Society,  and  without  ye 
Consente  of  Revd  Mr.  Wappinger:  Pastor  of  ye  first  Society 
on  Jan'y  ye  ICth,  three  years  ago.  And  now  I  do  Acknolege 
that  iny  preachynge  there  was  a  Breach  of  the  order  that  the 
Ecclesiastick  Authorities  of  Newport  county  have  come  into  by 


NO !  357 

Agrement  and  Vote  in  sayde  Year,  and  so  disorderlie  preach- 
ynge  in  that  Respect,  as  it  was  contrary  to  sayde  Vote. 

And  now  I  declare  that  it  is  My  full  Purpose,  at  present,  not 
to  preach  contrarie  to  sayde  vote  of  sayde  Authorities  Ecclesi- 
astick  for  time  to  come,  nor  contrarie  to  the  Act  of  ye  General 
Assemblie  in  May  the  last. 

And  furthermore,  I  humblie  ask  that  the  Association  of 
Newporte  county  would  Overlooke  what  is  past,  and  receive  me 
to  Sit  with  them,  &c.,  as  formerlie,  and  recommend  me  to  be 
Received  by  ye  Consociation,  upon  my  making  this  Acknol- 
egement  before  them,  whh  I  stand  Reddy  to  do  when  Oppor- 

tunitie  presents. 

PHILEMON  HALL. 

"Do  not,  do  not  send  it!"  urged  Esther,  when 
Parson  Hall  read  to  her  this  document. 

"  I  think  it  best,  Esther.  I  have  not  herein  avowed 
that  I  did  wrong  in  the  sight  of  God,  or  set  at  naught 
the  general  ordinances  of  the  church.  But  inasmuch 
as  the  church  hath  made  unto  itself  new  rules  since  I 
disturbed  them,  I  cannot  but,  for  the  truth's  sake,  ac 
knowledge  that  I  did  transgress  those  rules,  though, 
indeed,  before  they  existed.  This  much  have  I  need 
to  admit.  I  cannot  strain  my  conscience  to  say  more 
or  less." 

Esther  remonstrated  no  more ;  but  her  heart  cried 
out  against  the  injustice  and  bigotry  of  the  Consoci 
ation,  and  she  burned  with  a  sense  of  the  great  wrong 
done  to  such  a  man  as  her  husband. 

Yet  what  was  it  to  her  ? 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

PATIENCE 

Patience !  why  'tis  the  soul  of  peace. 
Of  all  the  virtues  nearest  kin  to  heaven, 
It  makes  men  look  like  Gods. 

The  best  of  men 

That  e'er  wore  earth  about  "h'tn  was  a  sufferer ; 
A  soft,  meek,  patient,  humble,  tranquil  spirit, 
The  first  true  gentleman  that  ever  breathed. 

WHEN  this  confession  was  presented  to  the  council, 
there  was  much  debate  as  to  whether  it  should  be 
received.  It  was  impossible  to  accept  it  without 
tacitly  acknowledging  that  Parson  Hall  had  not  been 
arraigned  for  any  real  offence  either  against  the  Word 
of  God  or  the  Saybrook  Platform,  and  such  acknowl 
edgment  proved  the  Consociation  to  have  blamed  him 
not  only  wrongfully  but  illegally,  inasmuch  as  the  law 
under  which  he  was  condemned  was  not  made  at  the 
time  he  was  declared  to  have  transgressed  it.  Could 
it  be  expected  that  a  body  of  such  men,  "  grave  and 
reverend  seigniors,"  would  publicly  admit  they  were 
or  had  been  in  the  wrong,  even  if  it  were  true  ? 

A  few  honest  and  godly  souls  were  willing,  never 
theless,  to  accept  this  confession,  but  they  were  in  the 
minority,  as  honest  and  godly  souls  always  are;  so 
this  confession  was  rejected  by  the  majority. 

358 


PATIENCE.  359 

Desirous,  above  all  things,  to  do  his  whole  duty, 
Parson  Hall  offered  them  another,  differently  worded, 
but  to  the  same  effect ;  but  equally  unsatisfactory  to 
these  lords  spiritual.  Not  once,  it  is  to  be  noted,  in 
all  this  struggle,  did  Philemon  Hall  lose  his  self-con 
trol,  reproach  his  brethren  for  their  despotism,  or  fall 
into  any  contention  with  them;  he  opened  not  his 
mouth  in  wrath,  nor  did  he  set  before  the  Consoci 
ation  what  an  uncharitable  and  persecuting  spirit 
possessed  them,  nor  what  discredit  and  shame  they 
thereby  brought  upon  the  church  of  Christ,  not  alone 
at  that  time  but  so  long  as  its  records  should  last. 
With  an  almost  divine  patience  he  set  aside  his  own 
opinions  and  emotions,  striving  humbly,  yet  firmly, 
to  be  at  peace  with  his  brethren :  yet  steadfast  in  his 
resolution  to  keep  to  the  exact  truth,  he  could  not 
say  that  he  had  sinned  in  the  matter  when  he  was 
devoutly  assured  he  had  not ;  but  he  was  willing  to 
concede  all  other  points,  so  to  "seek  peace,  and 
ensue  it."  Therefore  he  prepared  a  third  confession, 
which  he  offered  to  the  Consociation,  but  they  refused 
to  hear  it.  One  of  the  minority,  however,  desired  to 
see  it,  and  borrowed  it  of  Mr.  Hall,  on  the  assurance 
that  it  should  be  returned  to  him  ;  and  in  the  parson's 
own  mind,  as  well  as  the  minds  of  many  of  his  own 
church,  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  council  heard  this 
document  in  private  session. 

It  was,  and  is,  a  remarkable  instance  of  honest 
endeavor  to  placate  ecclesiastical  displeasure,  com 
bined  with  sturdy  resolve  not  to  tamper  with  the 


360  STEADFAST. 

writer's    steadfast    spiritual    convictions,    and    ran 
thus : — 

I,  the  subscriber,  do  humbly  aknolege  that  I  preached  at 
Watertown  within  ye  Bounds  of  ye  first  Society,  to  the  people 
Called  the  baptists,  upon  January  ye  10th  1742,  for  which  ye 
Reverend  Consociation  have  Secluded  me  from  ye  Priviledge  of 
sitting  with  them,  and  people  at  Home  and  abroad  have  been 
Uneasie.  I  do  therefore  declare,  that,  though  if  I  was  Instru 
mental  of  any  spiritual  Good  to  any  souls  there,  I  must  soe  far 
Rejoice;  yet  upon  every  other  Accounte,  I  am  sorry  that  I  went; 
and  desire  the  Association  and  Consociation  of  said  County  to 
overlook  it,  and  receive  me  to  Sit  with  them,  &c.,  as  formerlie. 

PHILEMON  HALL. 

But  the  Consociation  made  no  sign  of  having  heard 
this  remarkable  address  to  them,  and  convinced  that 
they  did  not  intend  to  forgive  and  receive  him,  Par 
son  Hall  went  home  and  told  his  wife  how  things 
had  gone  with  him.  If  he  was  hurt  and  grieved 
Esther  saw  no  sign  of  it ;  his  face  and  his  voice  were 
alike  calm,  his  eyes  clear  if  unsmiling ;  had  his  home 
been  that  blessed  shelter  and  consolation  that  a  home 
should  be,  had  tender  arms  clung  about  him,  and 
loving  hands  and  lips  caressed  him,  no  doubt  the 
pent-up  flood  of  feeling  within  his  weary  and  dis 
heartened  nature  would  have  found  wholesome  outlet 
and  comfort ;  as  it  was,  he  could  only  pray  for 
strength  to  possess  his  soul  in  patience,  and  go 
about  his  parish  work  with  his  usual  devotion. 

Esther's  heart  ached  within  her ;  it  was  not  in  her 
nature  to  live  in  the  society  of  any  one  and  not 
become  attached  to  them  ;  she  had  loved  Delia  and 


PATIENCE.  861 

Teinpy,  and  loved  them  still ;  and  now  she  added  to 
this  habitual  affection  for  Mr.  Hall  both  deep  rever 
ence  and  almost  painful  pity.  She  delighted  in  serv 
ing  him  silently,  in  a  thousand  ways  that  he  never 
knew,  absorbed  as  he  was  in  this  conflict  with  the 
church ;  she  watched  his  tastes  and  prepared  for  him 
the  dishes  he  liked;  she  kept  the  whole  house  in 
exquisite  neatness  ;  his  clothes  were  brushed  and 
mended  dutifully  ;  she  was  a  model  wife  —  if  only 
she  could  have  loved  him ;  yet  Parson  Hall  like 
many  another  man,  from  Merlin  down,  would  have 
mightily  preferred 

"  The  charm 
Of  woven  paces  and  of  waving  hands." 

the  devotion  of  a  sweet,  demonstrative,  submissive 
woman,  though  she  might  be  slatternly,  careless,  or 
deceptive.  Still  Mr.  Hall  respected  Esther  for  her 
honesty,  it  was  a  trait  that  always  appealed  to  him  ; 
and  out  of  his  great  heart  he  pitied  her  for  her  false 
position  and  her  unmurmuring  endurance. 

The  news  of  the  Consociation's  pitiless  rejection 
of  Parson  Hall's  confessions  soon  spread  abroad. 
Parson  Dyer  drove  over  from  his  home  at  Hillside 
to  express  his  sympathy  and  indignation,  and  in  the 
course  of  his  conversation  related  to  Mr.  Hall  his 
interview  with  Philip  Kent  at  the  time  he  bought 
the  farm  of  him.  Mr.  Hall  listened  intently  ;  he  had 
long  been  convinced  that  Esther  had  been  cruelly 
wronged  in  the  matter  of  her  Uncle  Dyer's  inheri 
tance,  and  this  story  of  Parson  Dyer's  only  strength- 


362  STEADFAST. 

ened  his  conviction  that  Philip  Kent  was  to  blame. 
Some  time  he  meant  to  enlighten  Esther  a  little,  or  at 
least  give  her  a  chance  to  enlighten  herself;  but 
where  there  is  no  love  there  can  be  no  confidence, 
and  while  he  was  willing  to  tell  her  all  his  troubles 
she  had  never  yet  breathed  a  word  to  him  that  the 
whole  parish  might  not  have  heard. 

Close  on  Parson  Dyer's  heels  came  Tempy  Hopkins 
ablaze  with  righteous  wrath. 

"  Why,  Esther  Hall !  I  never  was  so  took  aback  in 
my  mortal  life  as  I  was  when  the  deacon  come  in  a 
Monday,  and  told  how  that  plaguey  old  Consociation 
had  treated  Mr.  Hall.  I  never  heerd  nothing  like  it. 
How  darst  they  call  'emselves  Christian  critters  and 
go  on  that  way  ?  I  s'pose  they  wouldn't  let  a  man 
preach  to  th'  Indians  because  they  ain't  orthodox !  / 
don't  see  nothin'  into  my  Bible  'bout  orthodoxy  nor 
no  other  doxy.  Says  'believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  and  thou  shalt  be  saved/  and  Parson  Hall 
hasn't  never  preached  anything  but  that  since  I've 
knowed  him.  And  he's  a  master  hand  to  preach,  as 
well  I  know.  That's  at  the  bottom  on't,  Easter; 
that's  the  conclusion  of  the  hull  matter ;  the'  ain't 
one  of  them  parsons  can  hold  a  taller  candle  to  him, 
and  they're  jest  crawlin'  with  envy  an'  jealousy, 
wrath,  malice,  and  all  oncharitableness,  as  Scriptur' 
remarks.  He  ha'n't  done  a  thing  that's  wrong :  not 
a  thing !  He's  a  saint  upon  'arth,  and  that  isn't  no 
place  for  saints ;  folks  here  below  don't  know  how  to 
treat  'em !  " 


PAtlKNCE.  363 

Esther  could  say  amen  to  this  last  statement ;  lit 
tle  had  she,  who  entertained  an  angel  unawares, 
known  how  to  treat  Parson  Hall  herself !  But  Tempy 
only  took  breath  and  went  on. 

ult's  a  nawful  privilege  for  you,  Easter,  to  be  mar 
ried  to  sech  a  man.  I  tell  ye  when  you're  tied  up  to 
a  man  for  better  or  worse,  it's  a  sight  more  easy  to 
get  along  when  it's  for  better.  You're  a  fort'nate 
woman  to  have  sech  a  man  for  your  husband.  I  did 
look  for'rard  to  tendin'  your  little  ones  on  my  lap 
sometime  or  'nother,  but  it  don't  seem  so  to  be.  I 
s'pose  the  Lord  don't  give  folks  everything  to  once." 

The  hot  color  flashed  over  Esther's  cheek ;  she  felt 
its  glow  and  turned  her  face  away;  here  was  her 
life  lie  again  confronting  her  !  and  oh  !  had  she  not 
dragged  her  husband  down  to  touch  her  level  in  that  ? 
Saint  and  sinner  stood  together  on  the  one  slippery 
point  of  a  continuous  deception  ;  and  it  was  her  fault. 

"  Mr.  Hall  is  indeed  too  good ! "  she  answered, 
tremulously ;  for  she  knew  Tempy's  keen  eyes  were 
fastened  on  her,  and  she  was  glad  to  hear  Aunt 
Ruthy's  slow,  heavy  steps  in  the  kitchen,  and  'to  see 
her  enter ;  she,  too,  had  come  on  Tempy's  errand, 
and  that  perceptive  female  divined  it  at  once. 

"Why,  Miss  Ruthy ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  I'm  proper 
glad  to  set  eyes  011  you ;  it's  beei?  a  month  of  Sundays 
sence  I  see  your  face.  I  come  over  to  tell  Miss  Hall, 
here,  how  worked  up  I  be  about  the  way  that  old 
Consociation  has  acted  tow'rdst  the  parson.  Ain't  it 
arnaziii' 


364  STEADFAST. 

"  It  certinly  is,"  said  Aunt  Ruthy,  the  benign  face 
clouding  over.  "  It  certinly  is ;  and  I  feel  real  put 
about  because  of  it.  I  set  athinking  about  his  first 
wife  yestefday,  and  I  did  feel  so  thankful  that  she  was 
took  away  from  the  evil  to  coine.  She  was  a'most 
perfect,  but  'twas  through  suffering  ;  and  she  was  a 
woman  after  all.  She  worshipped  the  ground  he  trod 
on,  as  well  she  might ;  for  he  giv'  up  his  life  for  her, 
and  more'n  his  life,  you  may  say.  She  had  to  take 
everything,  and  give  nothing ;  and  it  hurt  her  to  the 
quick.  Many  and  many  a  time  I've  see  the  tears 
come  into  her  eyes  and  trickle  down,  real  big  and 
slow,  and  I'd  say,  '  Why,  my  dear,  don't  cry,  it  isn't 
good  for  you  ; '  and  she'd  whisper,  '  Oh,  Aunt  Ruthy, 
what  a  useless,  miser'ble  creature  I  am.  Philemon  is 
like  a  saint  on  earth  to  me,  and  I  never  can  do  a 
thing  for  him.'  I  used  to  sort  of  comfort  her  up,  and 
tell  her  'twas  worth  everything  to  have  her  love  him 
so ;  but  my  !  she  knew  jest  how  things  was.  But  I 
b'lieve,  to  my  soul,  she'd  have  died  right  off  if  he'd 
had  these  trials  come  onto  him  whilst  she  was  livin'. 
It's  a  mercy.  Mis'  Hall,  that  he's  got  you  to  turn  to. 
If  ever  a  man  needs  a  strong,  bright,  lovin'  wife,  it's 
when  that  he  is  in  trouble  ;  and  it's  a  privilege  to  be 
able  to  help  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Hall." 

"  Jest  what  I  was  a  say  in' !  "  triumphantly  chimed  in 
Tempy.  "  I've  always  said  that  'twas  queer  to  call  men- 
folks  the  strongest  sect,  when  they're  forever  an'  al 
ways  holdin'  on  to  some  woman  the  fust  minute  trouble 
teches  'em.  I  make  no  doubt  but  what  when  Scriptur 


PATIENCE.  365 

talks  about  Aaron  and  Hur  holdin'  up  Moses's  hands, 
'twas  a  mistake  in  the  printin'  that  Hur  wasn't  spelt 
with  an  e.  Why,  there's  Deacon  Hopkins,  take  him 
days  when  ever}Tthing  goes  right,  and  he's  as  pompious, 
and  capable,  and  self-sufficient  as  an  old  turkey  gob 
bler  ;  he's  the  top  o'  the  heap,  and  crowin'  on  it  too. 
But  let  him  get  a  touch  o'  rheumatiz,  say,  or  a  crick 
in  the  back.  Or  come  a  spell  o'  rain  in  hayin',  or  a 
dry  time  for  growin'  corn,  and,  mercy  me  !  he  ketches 
holt  of  my  ape rn-st ring,  so  to  speak,  jist  as  though  I 
was  Goliath  o'  Gath.  It's  the  way  they're  made  from 
the  beginnin' ;  but  most  of  'em  acts  as  though  the 
Lord  had  said,  "  I  will  make  a  hindrance  for  him." 
instead  of  a  helpmeet  for  him.  After  all,  when  you 
sift  it  down,  the  Lord's  ways  most  gene'lly  come  to 
pass,  spite  o'  man." 

Aunt  Euthy's  words  had  probed  Esther's  hidden 
wound  so  deeply  that  her  face  had  lost  its  color,  and 
her  forehead  had  drawn  into  lines  of  pain ;  but  no 
body  could  help  smiling  at  Tempy's  oddities,  and  they 
saved  Esther  from  any  need  of  replying  to  Aunt 
Euthy.  Yet  the  latter  good  woman  had  meant  to 
touch  Mrs.  Hall's  heart,  if  she  could,  and  find  what 
hidden  trouble  lay  in  the  quiet  parsonage ;  for  well 
she  knew  there  was  not  the  peace  within  its  walls  that 
she  earnestly  desired  her  beloved  pastor  should  enjoy, 
but  Tempy's  appearance  and  talk  had  prevented  her 
from  trying  to  win  Esther's  confidence,  so  she  went 
home  with  as  heavy  a  heart  as  she  brought.  Tempy 
skipped  bravely  up  into  the  old  chaise,  and  drove  off 


366  STEADFAST. 

to  Pickering  Centre,  with  the  cheerful  consciousness 
that  she  had  not  only  freed  her  mind  with  regard  to 
Parson  Hall's  affairs  and  the  conduct  of  the  Consoci 
ation,  but  had  also  vindicated  ner  own  importance  as 
the  wife  of  Ammi  Hopkins,  if  she  had  thereby  delin 
eated  the  deacon  when  he  was  abased  from  his 
pedestal. 

Esther  was  left  alone  with  her  thoughts,  and  sad 
enough  they  were.  Hopeless  enough  the  outlook. 
Never,  since  that  fatal  wedding,  —  or,  rather,  the  day 
after  it,  —  had  Parson  Hall  spoken  or  looked  as  if  he 
wished  or  thought  that  their  mutual  compact  could  be 
broken. 

He  had  made  no  advances  toward  a  better  and 
more  natural  condition  of  life.  Never  had  his  eye 
softened  as  he  looked  at  her,  or  his  voice  taken  on  a 
gentle  tone  ;  in  fact,  he  rarely  did  look  at  her,  and  his 
tones,  always  calm  and  cool  to  every  one,  were  even 
more  so  to  her. 

Esther's  heart  was  undergoing  a  radical  change, 
though  she  was  not  as  yet  aware  of  it.  Her  vanity 
was  a  little  piqued,  that  she  could  not  charm  Mr. 
Hall ;  but,  far  deeper  than  her  vanity,  lay  an  inscru 
table  feeling,  that  grew  more  and  more  assertive. 

"  The  soul  has  inalienable  rights,  and  the  first  of 
these  is  love,"  says  Emerson ;  and  though  the  poet- 
philosopher's  utterance  lay  far  in  the  future,  and 
Esther  could  not  have  phrased  her  own  state  in  fit 
words,  it  was  really  a  want  of  love  that  made  her  so 
restless,  so  bitter,  so  discontented  as  she  was  now. 


PATIENCE.  367 

She  could  not  understand  that  Philemon  Hall  all  this 
time  was  on  the  defensive  against  himself;  that  his 
averted  eyes,  his  cool  tones,  his  hours  of  solitude,  even 
his  strict  eourteousness,  were  all  barriers  of  his  own 
building,  which  he  dared  not  pass. 

How  he  had  longed  for  that  comfort  and  peace 
which  Aunt  Euthy  had  congratulated  Esther  on 
affording  him,  words  could  not  tell. 

Even  Ammi  Hopkins  had  his  poor  share  of  help 
and  consolation  from.  Tempy,  but  this  saint  walked 
on  his  straight  way,  alone  with  God.  No  human 
hand  clasped  his.  No  human  love  shone,  starlike,  on 
the  dim  horizon.  The  light  that  guided  him  was  all 
supernal ;  the  heart  that  comforted  him,  all  divine. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

A    CONFIDENCE. 

Forgetting  the  things  which  are  behind. 

FOB  a  time  the  subject  of  Parson  Hall's  contumacy 
was  either  laid  aside  by  the  Consociation  or  talked  of 
privately  among  its  members. 

It  was  evident  that  no  pressure  of  theirs,  so  far, 
had  bent  what  they  were  pleased  to  call  his  stubborn 
will,  or  brought  them  one  step  nearer  to  their  end, 
which  was  manifestly  now  to  abase  him  in  the  sight 
of  men,  and  force  him  to  confess  that  he  was,  and 
had  been,  altogether  in  the  wrong.  They  thought 
that  time  would  work  for  them,  forgetting  that  Par 
son  Hall's  position  related  to  eternity ;  a  rock  on 
which  their  noisy  surf  should  break  —  and  break  in 
vain  ! 

But  in  these  years  of  armed  neutrality,  Mr.  Hall's 
congregation  grew  uneasy;  they  did  not  altogether 
like  the  fact  that  their  minister  was  under  a  cloud ; 
that  none  of  the  neighboring  parsons,  except  Mr. 
Dyer,  would  preach  for  him,  though  he  no  longer 
preached  for  the  Baptists  who  had  now  a  church,  if  a 
feeble  one,  of  their  own,  as  well  as  a  settled  pastor. 

The  disaffection  of  his  church  in  Trumbull  showed 
itself  to  Mr.  Hall  in  various  ways ;  his  salary  became 
hard  to  collect,  Esther  was  forced  to  strict  economy  j 


A   CONFIDENCE.  369 

her  wedding  dresses  were  of  the  good  material  and 
enduring  fashion  of  those  days,  or  they  would  have 
been  well  worn  by  now ;  but,  as  she  still  persisted  in 
doing  without  a  servant,  her  working  gown  had  to  be 
patched,  and  turned,  and  re-turned,  because  she  would 
not  buy  new  ones;  she  preferred  to  set  aside  her 
own  needs  rather  than  her  husband's. 

With  the  ordinary  blindness  of  a  man  to  a  woman's 
requirements,  so  long  as  his  own  are  attended  to,  —  for, 
saint  as  he  was,  he  was  also  strongly  human,  —  Phile 
mon  Hall  never  noticed  how  shabby  Esther's  gar 
ments  grew,  but  he  was  much  concerned  at  the  wear 
ing  off  of  the  paint  on  his  church  ;  the  broken  panes 
of  glass  in  its  windows,  proofs  that  hail  as  well  as 
rain  falls  on  all  places  and  persons  alike  ;  and  the 
rusty  stove-pipes,  from  whose  crevices  smoke  was  too 
apt  to  steal  out  and  choke  the  congregation.  In  fact 
Parson  Hall  feared  that  the  roof  itself  would  some 
day  break  from  the  weight  of  wintry?  snows,  its  an 
cient  timbers  sagged  so,  and  its  shingles  were  so  worn 
that  rain  dripped  through  and  was  slowly  rotting  the 
beams. 

He  sat  one  day  musing  by  the  keeping-room  fire, 
after  dinner ;  a  most  unusual  proceeding  for  him,  but 
the  day  was  cold  and  cheerless,  a  wild  November 
storm  swept  across  the  coast,  darkened  the  air,  lashed 
the  streaming  panes  of  the  windows,  shrieked  and 
wailed  in  the  eave-spout,  roared  down  the  chimney, 
and  seemed  to  blot  out  the  exterior  world  with  a  mist 
of  gloom. 


370  STEADFAST. 

The  parson's  mind  was  on  his  poor  old  meeting 
house,  which  stood  on  a  little  rise  of  ground  in  such  a 
position  that  this  northeast  tempest  dashed  full 
against  its  side  ;  he  remembered  the  windows  on  that 
side  were  more  warped  as  to  their  sashes  and  dilapi 
dated  as  to  their  glass  every  year;  and  he  could 
almost  see  the  water  pouring  in  on  the  worn  hymn- 
books,  paintless  floors,  and  uncushioned  seats  of  the 
square  pews ;  he  knew  that  the  shingles  must  some 
of  them  be  torn  off  by  the  force  of  the  storm,  and  the 
quaint  little  bell-shed,  —  no  stretch  of  civility  could 
call  it  a  tower !  —  must  be  rocking  fearfully ;  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  could  hear  the  cracked  tinkle 
of  that  bell  across  the  howling  wind  and  hissing  rain 
which  had  really  kept  him  from  resorting  to  his  study, 
since  that  occupied  the  darkest  corner  of  the  house, 
and  had  a  chimney  that  would  smoke  in  a  great  stress 
of  wind  and  rain  together.  Esther  sat  by  the  win 
dow  knitting  ;  she  had  her  own  thoughts,  but  she  did 
not  speak  until  the  silence  became  oppressive,  and  a 
great  gust  of  wind  drove  against  the  house  and  made 
it  tremble. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  involuntarily,  "  what  a  dreadful 
storm  !  " 

"  It  is  dreadful,"  said  Mr.  Hall,  lifting  his  eyes  to 
the  outlook.  "  I  have  so  felt  it,  though  sitting  up 
here,  because  my  mind  hath  dwelt  upon  our  meeting 
house  ;  it  is  so  worn  and  out  of  repair,  I  fear  the 
tempest  will  well-nigh  beat  it  down." 

"  It  is  indeed  well-worn ! "  said  Esther,  turning  very 
pale. 


A   CONFIDENCE.  371 

But  Philemon  Hall  did  not  see  her,  his  gaze  was 
fixed  upon  the  slant  streams  of  rain  that  beat  down 
on  the  earth  so  heavily  that  human  sight  could  not 
pierce  their  veils  of  water  more  than  a  few  rods  from 
the  window. 

"  It  is  herein  that  I  feel  most  the  thwart  action  of 
the  Consociation,"  he  said,  slowly  and  half  unwillingly. 
"  I  had  hoped  so  long  as  I  have  been  here,  that  before 
this  time  my  people  should  have  been  willing  and  able 
to  build  a  new  place  of  worship ;  and  had  all  things 
gone  well  and  peacefully  with  us  I  think  it  would  full 
surely  have  been  done.  I  cannot  but  see  a  lack  of 
unity  and  zeal  amongst  them,  and  there  are  those  who 
bring  to  me  hard  sayings  that  come  from  my  own 
membership,  concerning  our  solitude  amid  the  other 
flocks  of  the  Lord  round  about  us,  and  the  coldness 
of  my  brethren,  who  deprive  me  of  their  help  and 
companionship.  So  I  cannot  ask  for  a  new  house  of 
prayer,  yet ;  though  I  would  gladly  labor  with  mine 
own  hands  in  the  building  thereof."  He  ended  the 
sentence  with  a  deep  sigh. 

Esther  could  bear  no  more  ;  she  dropped  her  knit 
ting  to  the  floor  and  came  across  to  the  fireplace.  Her 
eyes  were  wide  with  anxious  distress,  her  face  pale. 

"  I  must  tell  you ! "  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  made 
Mr.  Hall  start  and  look  up  at  her.  "  I  must !  I  can 
hear  it  no  longer;  it  is  my  fault  that  the  meeting 
house  is  not  rebuilt." 

"Esther,  what  do  you  say?"  cried  Mr.  Hall. 
"  Child !  are  you  mad  ?  " 


372  STEADFAST. 

"Ah,  no;  if  I  were  —  but  no,  I  am  in  my  sober 
senses.  But  for  me  the  church  would  have  long  ago 
been  built  anew ;  it  was  in  Uncle  Dyer's  will,  the  one 
they  could  not  find,  and  I  —  I  " — 

An  agony  of  tears  choked  her  speech.  She  could 
not  with  that  convulsed  throat,  those  dry  lips,  utter 
another  word.  The  parson  rose  and  went  to  her, 
gravely  laying  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"Esther!"  he  said,  with  a  sudden,  strong  quiet  in 
his  voice ;  "  say  no  more  ;  you  are  over-worn.  You 
know  not  what  you  say." 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  beautiful,  agonized 
eyes,  like  a  dumb  creature  that  pleads  for  life.  She 
could  not  know  how  he  longed  to  put  his  arms  about 
her  and  let  her  sob  out  her  passion  of  remorse  on  his 
breast.  Nor  could  he  know  how  she  longed  to  have 
him !  His  very  self-control  hardened  his  face.  She 
made  a  desperate  effort  for  control  herself,  and  recov 
ered  her  speech. 

"  Yes,  I  know  well  what  I  am  saying.  I  heard  —  I 
thought  —  yes  I  knew  he  had  left  his  money  to  the 
church  for  the  rebuilding  of  it,  and  it  seemed  to  my 
folly  that  it  was  unjust.  I  —  ah!  God  forgive  me! 
1  burnt  that  will !  " 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  leant  her  head 
on  the  mantelpiece.  The  parson's  hand  dropped 
from  her  shoulder.  She  felt  it  with  -a  shudder,  she 
was  too  wicked  to  be  touched  by  her  saint ;  a  sinner 
fallen  too  far !  There  was  a  long  pause,  for  Mr.  Hall 
was  trying  to  command  his  own  voice,  and  the 


A   CONFIDENCE.  373 

thoughts  that  rushed  over  him  shook  his  very  soul. 
She  had  not  mentioned  Philip  Kent's  name ;  she  had 
not  hinted  how  she  knew  the  contents  of  Uncle 
Dyer's  will,  —  or  thought  she  knew  them.  She  had 
left  the  matter  so  merely  hinted  at,  that  another  man 
might  have  thought  she  expected  to  be  Uncle  Dyer's 
heir  herself. 

Parson  Hall  could  not  speak.  She  found  words 
before  he  did. 

"  I  have  repented.  Oh,  sir  !  I  have  repented  in  the 
dust,  of  my  great  sin.  I  have  had  it  ever  before 
mine  eyes.  All  this  time  it  hath  been  an  anguish 
unto  me.  I  would  have  made  confession  before,  had 
it  been  of  any  use  ;  had  it  not "  — 

Mr.  Hall  knew  well  why  she  paused  here.  "  Had 
it  not  involved  another  "  she  would  have  said,  but  she 
stopped  just  in  time :  she  would  not  put  her  sin  upon 
Philip  Kent's  shoulders,  though  there  it  belonged, 
even  more  than  to  her. 

" Esther,"  said  the  parson,  "believe  your  repen 
tance  is  accepted  of  heaven ;  and  comfort  your  heart, 
for  you  have  not  done  the  evil  you  thought.  I  know 
of  a  certainty,  from  one  who  had  it  from  your  uncle's 
lips,  that  his  last  will  mentioned  nothing  of  rebuild 
ing  the  church.  He  left  his  estate  to  you,  saving  a 
small  legacy  to  his  nephew.  You  robbed  yourself, 
my  dear,  not  God." 

"  What  ? "  she  answered,  as  one  who  hears  what 
they  dare  not  believe. 

Parson  Hall  repeated  his  words  slowly.     Esther's 


374  STEADFAST. 

arms  fell  to  her  side ;  she  drew  a  long,  gasping 
breath,  and  then  the  New  England  conscience,  with 
pitiless  strength  and  stinging  thong,  recalled  her 
from  the  momentary  relief. 

"But  it  was  an  equal  sin,  an  equal  sin!  I  stole 
that  which  was  not  mine  ;  I  destroyed  the  thing  that 
was  another's  :  '  I  have  sinned  ;  what  shall  I  do  unto 
Thee,  0  thou  Preserver  of  Men  ? '  If  it  were  to  mine 
own  loss,  still  it  was  sin ! " 

»  If  Parson  Hall  agreed  with  Esther  theologically, 
nevertheless  his  heart  was  wrung  with  pity. 

"Esther,  Esther,  remember  who  hath  said  that 
there  is  joy  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth ; 
recall  the  word  of  the  Lord,  my  friend:  'the  blood 
of  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin.'  Come  into  the 
light,  Esther,  for  in  Him  is  no  darkness  at  all ! " 

Esther  bent  her  head  lower.  Alas  !  well  she  knew 
tli at  this  was  not  the  only  sin  she  repented  of,  daily 
and  hourly ;  and  she  knew  also  that  however  healing 
to  the  worst  terror  of  the  soul  was  the  forgiveness  of 
sin  against  God,  yet  the  consequences  of  sin,  the 
results  that  follow  one  wrong  done,  are  never  to  be 
washed  away ;  never  to  be  averted ;  sin  has  its  own 
punishment  this  side  of  the  grave  even  for  the  most 
earnest  penitent,  the  most  faithful  believer.  The 
true  purgatory  lies  in  the  memory  of  the  repenting 
sinner ;  the  real  purifying  fire  is  a  remorse  that 
never  ends  while  life  endures,  however  sure  and  cer 
tain  may  be  the  everlasting  peace  and  purity  beyond. 

"Can  you   forgive   me?"   said   Esther,  in  a  half 


A   CONFIDENCE.  375 

whisper ;  and  in  the  wistful  tone  that  said  more  than 
the  low  words. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  Esther,"  said  the  par 
son,  looking  at  her  with  an  almost  divine  expression ; 
but  her  drooped  eyes  did  not  see  it. 

"  My  poor  child ;  how  you  have  suffered !  I  would 
you  had  told  me  before." 

"  I  could  not ! "  she  said ;  sobs  forbade  her  to  ex 
plain,  but  the  parson  knew  what  that  morbid,  timid 
soul,  that  sensitive  conscience  must  have  undergone. 
He  asked  no  question ;  he  never  alluded  to  any  mo 
tive,  or  any  encouragement  she  might  have  had  for  an 
act  so  foreign  to  her  direct  and  innocent  character  as 
the  destroying  of  that  will ;  but  in  his  secret  heart  he 
had  not  a  doubt  who  tempted  her  to  do  it. 

Who  beside  Philip  Kent  had  any  interest  in  the 
older  will  ?  who  but  he  had  enough  influence  over 
Esther  to  induce  her  to  do  such  a  deed  ?  The  parson's 
heart  sank  as  he  began  to  comprehend  how  she  must 
have  loved  the  worthless  man  ;  it  was  worse  to  know 
how  worthless  he  was  ;  more  degrading  to  her  who 
loved  him.  But  of  all  this  he  said  nothing ;  he  was  a 
thorough  Christian  gentleman,  and  he  would  not  only 
keep  his  lips  closed,  but  he  resolved,  then  and  there, 
that  never  would  he  allow  Esther  to  tell  him  any  fur 
ther  details  of  this  matter.  It  should  be  buried  for 
ever  ;  and  if  he  could  not  hope  that  flowers  would 
grow  over  its  grave,  it  should  at  least  be  sealed  with 
a  great  stone. 

With  the  gentlest  care  he  persuaded  Esther  to  lie 


376  STEADFAST. 

down,  wheeled  the  sofa  up  to  the  fire,  and  covered  her 
carefully ;  but  still  her  face  was  unquiet,  her  lips 
quivering ;  with  an  instinctive  knowledge  that  she 
had  best  be  alone,  he  said,  — "  And  now  that  the 
storm  hath  lulled  somewhat,  I  will  go  out  and  see 
what  it  hath  wrought;  perhaps  you  may  fall  into 
sleep,  Esther.  I  think  that  would  be  your  best 
elixir ! " 

When  he  shut  the  door  behind  him,  however,  her 
forced  composure  gave  way,  and  she  cried  long  and 
bitterly  ;  she  saw  now  what  Philip  Kent  had  been ; 
how  deliberately  he  had  deceived  her ;  it  was  true 
she  had  discovered  this  partially  before,  but  that  he 
should  have  left  her  all  these  years  under  the  strong 
delusion  that  she  had  really  robbed  the  church  she 
had  so  learned  to  love,  seemed  the  overflowing  drop  of 
bitterness  in  her  cup. 

And  oh  !  how  lonely  she  was,  lying  there  in  that 
silent  room,  the  only  sounds  that  fell  upon  her  ear 
the  slow  purr  and  occasional  snap  or  crackle  of  the 
wood  fire,  for  the  wind  had  gone  down  and  the  rain 
fell  no  longer  from  the  low,  leaden  sky. 

But  her  husband  was  more  lonely  ;  once  out  of  the 
house  he  sought  his  usual  relief  in  grief  or  excite 
ment,  a  long  walk.  The  sea  itself  seemed  to  be  sym 
pathetic  with  his  mood,  for  its  fury  had  not  ceased ; 
in  the  wildest  commotion  it  roared  and  raved  against 
the  rocky  shore,  and  reared  its  crested  billows  high 
against  the  cliff,  only  to  fall  back  into  futile  milky 
foam,  to  toss  and  murmur  in  vain. 


A   CONFIDENCE.  377 

It  was  strangely  soothing  to  Parson  Hall's  troubled 
soul,  this  elemental  war ;  his  thoughts  quieted  as  he 
watched  the  wrathful  water ;  and  He  who  once  said 
to  the  furious  waves,  "  Be  still  "  spoke  the  word  again 
to  Philemon  Hall,  but  added,  "  and  know  that  I  am 
God!" 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

THE    WORLD. 

Heaven  save  me  from  my  friends! 
I  can  take  care  of  my  enemies  myself. 

FOR  nearly  two  years,  Mr.  Hall  had  a  sort  of  respite 
from  the  persecution  of  the  Consociation. 

He  felt  however,  all  the  time,  that  his  struggle  with 
the  powers  that  be  was  not  over.  Nor  was  he  at  rest 
in  his  own  house ;  it  hurt  him  cruelly  to  see  how 
Esther's  confession  affected  her;  he  had  thought  it 
would  be  a  relief  to  her  vexed  soul,  but  it  proved  also 
to  be  a  distress  and  a  humiliation.  She  went  about 
with  so  sad  a  countenance,  so  humble  a  demeanor, 
that  her  husband's  heart  ached  for  her ;  he  longed  to 
comfort  her  with  the  strength  of  his  affection,  and  so 
repair  her  broken  self-respect,  but  he  dared  not  in 
trude  on  her  such  a  form  of  consolation ;  for  now 
more  than  ever  he  was  convinced  she  had  loved  Philip 
Kent  deeply.  He  could  not  imagine  that  any  tran 
sience  could  be  possible  to  an  affection  that  could  be 
guile  such  a  woman  to  commit  a  great  sin ;  he  had 
never  understood  Esther's  deep  capacity  of  self-sac- 
ririce,  for  lie  had  given  her  no  chance  to  exercise  it ; 
but  rather  had  sacrificed  himself  for  her  instead. 

It  was  a  silent  and  melancholy  dwelling,  that  Trum- 
bull  parsonage;  and  Esther  felt  in  her  mistaken 

378 


THE    WOULD.  379 

heart  that  every  hope  for  the  future  had  drifted  quite 
away  from  her,  now  that  her  secret  was  known  to  Mr. 
Hall.  And  she  felt  also  that  she  had  cared  for  him 
far  more  deeply  than  she  knew,  measuring  her  hither 
to  unacknowledged  feeling  by  her  great  sense  of  loss 
and  pain.  And  to  this  she  added  another  distress  ;  it 
had  been  little  comfort  to  her  to  know  that  Uncle 
Dyer  had  meant  to  leave  his  property  to  her,  for  she 
knew  that  if  it  was  hers  now,  she  should  gladly  ex 
pend  a  great  share  of  it  on  the  old  meeting-house,  or 
build  a  new  one.  It  never  occurred  to  her  that  if  she 
had  been  the  independent  woman  that  legacy  would 
have  made  her,  she  never  would  have  married  Mr. 
Hall,  but  probably  gone  away  from  Trumbull  and  its 
associations  forever. 

Kow,  she  thought,  all  her  illusions  and  hopes  were 
dead.  Philip  Kent  she  never  wanted  to  think  of 
again ;  she  despised  herself  to  think  her  love  for  him 
had  been  so  long-lived,  so  tenacious;  her  husband's 
love  was  gone  from  her;  a  loss  she  appreciated 
keenly,  for  with  her  as  with  most  women,  and  Esther 
was  a  veritable  woman,  the  thing  she  had  not  was 
far  more  valuable  in  its  loss  than  in  its  possession. 
ISTo  wonder  she  was  sad  !  But  there  was  a  repetition 
of  the  old  trouble  in  the  church  coming  fast  upon 
them  now,  and  there  is  something  weighty  in  "the 
expulsive  power  "  of  a  new  trouble,  as  well  as  that  of 
a  "  new  affection." 

In  May  of  the  second  year  after  Mr.  Hall's  third 
and  latest  confession  had  been  refused  even  a  hearing 


380  STEADFAST. 

by  the  Consociation,  a  new  complaint  against  him  was 
privately  drawn  up  and  submitted  to  that  conclave, 
sitting  at  Chester  ;  and  another  paper  was  presented 
at  the  same  time,  signed  by  fifteen  members  of  his 
own  society,  urgently  requesting  the  Consociation  to 
consider  the  difficulties  and  grievances  under  whicli 
they  labored  owing  to  the  displeasure  of  that  body 
with  their  pastor. 

Though  the  complaint  was  drawn  up  secretly,  it 
soon  became  known  through  those  who,  though  few, 
were  still  faithful  to  Parson  Hall,  and  who  attended 
the  meeting  at  Chester;  the  names,  also,  of  the 
fifteen  petitioners  were  soon  equally  well  known 
through  the  same  means,  and  all  the  parish  of  Trum- 
bull  was  agog  and  set  by  the  ears ;  some  for  and 
some  against  the  minister. 

Parson  Dyer  drove  over  from  Hillside  to  remon 
strate  with  his  dear  friend. 

"Brother  Hall,"  he  said,  solemnly,  as  soon  as  the 
study  door  shut  behind  him,  "  I  have  come  to  counsel 
with  you  concerning  this  matter  of  your  refusal  to 
submit  yourself  to  the  Consociation.  I  have  known 
you  too  long,  brother,  to  doubt  your  honesty  of  pur 
pose,  but  may  it  not  be  that  Satan  hath  laid  a  snare 
for  you  herein,  and  clouded  your  better  judgment 
with  his  crafts  and  assaults  ?  " 

"Brother  Dyer/'  answered  Mr.  Hall  with  an  odd 
little  smile  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  "  Satan  is 
not  wont  to  array  himself  on  the  losing  side." 

"'Pshaw,  pshaw  !    Will  you  answer  me  with  a  quip, 


THE   WORLD. 

Philemon  Hall,  when   I  come  to  plead  with  you  for 
your  own  good  and  the  peace  of  your  flock  ?  " 

"Nay,  brother!  I  meant  not  to  anger  you;  but 
there  be  straits  wherein  a  word  of  cheer  doeth  the 
soul  good,  and  a  quip  is  but  the  sparkle  of  a  light 
that  is  nigh  to  go  out.'7 

Parson  Dyer's  face  softened  "My  friend/'  he 
said,  "  is  there  no  way  open  unto  you  wherein  you 
and  your  brethren  may  walk  together  in  concord  ?  " 

"  How  can  two  walk  together  except  they  be 
agreed  ?  "  answered  Mr.  Hall,  sadly. 

"  But  I  would  fain  have  you  agree,  my  brother,  and 
I  think  you  do  in  vital  matters ;  what  availeth  it  to 
disturb  the  concord  of  brethren  and  the  peace  of  the 
church  of  (.rod  with  a  differing  in  non-essentials  ? 
You  see  how  your  own  people  are  at  variance  one 
with  another;  how  your  brethren  in  the  ministry 
stand  aloof  from  you ;  how  the  very  walls  of  Zion 
crumble  because  of  the  disaffection  amongst  the  flock 
thereof.  Why  is  it  that  you  cannot  bow  your  stiff 
neck  to  the  furtherance  of  the  Lord's  work  and  obedi 
ence  unto  the  laws  of  the  church  ?  " 

"  Brother  Dyer,  I  know  that  I  have  done  all  that 
a  true  man  can  to  seek  peace  and  ensue  it.  I  have 
thrice,  nay,  more  than  thrice,  laid  before  the  Consoci 
ation  mine  apology  for  transgressing  their  laws,  but- 
no  man,  no  men,  shall  force  me  to  consent  unto  a  lie. 
I  believe  that  in  dispensing  the  Word  unto  that  peo 
ple  who  were  hungering  and  thirsting  for  it,  I  obeyed 
the  will  of  Him  who  said  'Feed  my  sheep/  nor  did 


382  STEADFAST. 

I  find  anything  in  the  platform  of  doctrine  accepted 
in  our  churches  contrary  to  my  so  doing  j  thus  far  am 
I  justified.  In  that  I  pursued  my  course  after  the 
new  laws  were  made  by  the  council  of  churches,  I 
have  already  acknowledged  that  I  erred,  although  in 
ignorance.  I  meant,  and  I  mean  to  obey  those  laws, 
though  I  approve  not  of  them.  If  I  am  forbid  to 
preach  unto  these  Baptists  because  they  are  not 
orthodox  believers,  I  am  also  forbid  to  lay  the  Gos 
pel  before  Papists  and  Prelatists ;  yea,  if  I  hold  to 
the  logic  of  this  matter  I  must  even  frown  upon  that 
apostle  John  Eliot,  who  hath  given  his  life  over  to 
carry  the  Gospel  unto  the  Indian  savages,  a  race  well 
behind  so  much  as  the  understanding  of  the  word 
orthodox." 

"I  intend  not  to  chop  logic  with  you,  Brother 
Hall,"  replied  Parson  Dyer,  sternly.  "It  appeareth 
to  me  that  you  have  in  view  rather  the  fulfilling  of 
your  own  will  and  purpose,  than  any  other  thing. 
'  Seest  thou  a  man  wise  in  his  own  conceit  ?  there  is 
more  hope  of  a  fool  than  of  him  ! ' " 

Parson  Hall  flushed  up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair ;  he 
had  a  naturally  hot  temper  that  had  taken  him  half  a 
lifetime  to  control,  and  its  merely  physical  expressions 
he  had  not  yet  conquered ;  but  his  voice  was  quiet  and 
cool,  as  he  said,  — 

"  I  am  grieved,  my  friend,  that  you  should  think 
so  evilly  of  me ;  but  I  must  even  bear  it.  I  have 
prayed  with  strong  crying  and  tears  that  the  Lord 
would  guide  ine  in  this  matter,  and  I  have  assurance 


THE    WORLD.  383 

within  myself  that  he  hath  done  so.  1  have  made 
humble  submission  unto  the  Consociation,  so  far  as 
my  conscience  allowed;  it  lieth  with  them  to  accept 
the  olive  branch  or  cast  it  back  unto  me.  But  no 
earthly  power  shall  make  me  lie  before  God  or  man. 
I  am  well  assured  that  I  did  well  to  preach  unto  the 
Baptists  the  eternal  Gospel  of  God.  I  took  no  part 
in  their  peculiar  belief,  either  to  further  or  to  hinder 
it.  Forms  and  ceremonies  seem  to  me  slight  things ; 
it  is  the  spirit  that  giveth  life ;  and  the  Spirit  of  the 
Lord  followed  upon  my  words  in  the  conversion  of 
souls.  Shall  I  draw  back  after  that  seal  ?  " 

His  face  glowed  with  fervor  and  truth.  Parson 
Dyer's  keen  eye  softened  as  he  looked  at  his  friend, 
and  it  may  be  that  his  speech  too  would  have  been 
kindly,  but  at  that  moment  a  sharp  rap  at  the  door 
heralded  the  entrance  of  Deacon  Ammi  Hopkins,  who 
bustled  in,  mopping  his  round  face  and  stubbly  gray 
head  with  a  big  yellow  silk  handkerchief,  for  the  day 
was  warm,  even  for  July,  and  the  young  colt  he  drove 
down  from  Pickering  Centre  had  been  unusually  hard 
on  the  bits. 

"  Good-day,  Parson  Hall,"  he  began,  tipping  about 
on  his  toes  like  an  excited  bantam  cock. 

"  Good-day,  sir ;  hope  I  see  you  well.  Why !  Jee- 
ruslem  !  if  it  ain't  Priest  Dyer.  Well,  well !  and  how 
do  you  do,  sir  ?  I  ha'n't  set  eyes  on  you  for  quite 
a  spell ;  seems  folksy  to  see  you  round,  reelly  it 
doos." 

"  And  how  is  all  at  Pickering  Centre  ?  "  asked  Mr. 


384  STEADFAST. 

Dyer,  smiling,  for  Ammi's  entrance  just  at  that  junc 
ture  seemed  providential  to  him.  He  knew  not  how 
either  to  condemn  or  sympathize  with  his  erring 
brother,  and  was  glad  to  give  place  to  another  train 
of  thought. 

"  Reasonable  well ;  yes,  reasonable  well.  I  don't 
think  that  the  state  of  religion  is  over  ?n  above  flour- 
ishin'.  We've  got  a  good  man  into  the  pulpit,  a  likely 
man ;  but  ruther  worldly,  ruther  giv'  to  lookin'  arter 
the  loaves  and  fishes,  as  you  may  say;  wants  his 
sellery  paid  up  prompt,  and  his  wood  drawed  as 
prompt.  He'd  ought  to  pay  more  attention  to  speri- 
tooal  things  our  folks  think,  than  to  the  meat  that 
perisheth." 

"Hm,"  grunted  Parson  Dyer;  "  got  ten  children, 
hasn't  he  ?  " 

"Yes;  oh,  yes!  the  minister's  blessin',  ye  know. 
Quiver  full,  and  smart,  likely  young  ones  too;  the 
heft  of  'em  boys  !  " 

"  Pretty  prompt  to  their  dinner,  probably ! " 

"  I  expect  they  be.  I  think  likely  they  be  ;  but  ye 
know  Scriptur'  says  we  mustn't  be  a-thiiikin'  what  we 
eat  and  what  we  shall  drink  the  hull  time." 

"  And  it  says  too  that  '  the  laborer  is  worthy  of  his 
hire,  friend  Hopkins/' 

Parson  Hall  saw  his  clerical  brother's  face  darken, 
and  interposed  a  question. 

"  How  is  Mrs.  Hopkins,  deacon  ?  " 

"  She's  well,  middlin'  well.  She  come  over  with 
me ;  she's  in  the  keepin'  room,  'long  o'  Mis'  Hall." 


THE  WORLD.  385 

"I  think  I  will  go  in  and  visit  her  there,"  said 
Parson  Dyer,  and  disappeared  accordingly. 

Deacon  Hopkins  cleared  his  throat  with  a  long 
"A  —  hem,"  put  the  tips  of  the  fingers  of  both  hands 
together,  and  rising  on  the  toes  of  his  squeaky  boots, 
as  he  was  wont  to  do  when  he  prayed  or  exhorted  in 
conference  meeting,  began,  — 

"  I  came  over  to-day,  Parson  Hall  to  hev  a  leetle 
talk  with  you.  You  know  I've  always  been  friendly 
in  my  feelin'  tow'rdst  you,  and  Mis7  Hopkins  bein'  so 
attached  to  Mis'  Hall,  why,  I  feel  as  though  that  was 
a  bond  as  you  may  say. 

'  Blest  be  the  tie  that  binds,' 

ye  know.  I  am  aware  that  is  a  weddin'  hymn,  but 
its  referable  to  friendliness  too,  I  expect,  and  seen'  I 
have  the  peace  of  Is'rel  to  heart  as  well  as  your'n ; 
and  bein'  along  in  years,  and  a  man  of  exper'ence,  as 
you  may  say,  hevin'  been  married  four  times  and  b'en 
deacon  five-and-forty  year,  for  I'm  eighty-two  to- 
morrer;  why,  I  said  to  Mis'  Hopkins,  ses  I,  when 
we  heered  of  the  trouble  Trumbull  folks  was  a 
gettin'  into  about  the  Consos'ation,  and  the  hard 
place  you  have  sot  down  in ;  yes,  I  said,  '  Let  us  go 
over  to  Trumbull  and  have  a  dish  of  talk  with  the 
parson  and  Mis'  Hall.  Mebbe,  he'll  hark  to  me  a 
mite,  and  you  can  comfort  her  up.  ISTow,  parson, 
don't  you  feel  as  though  you  could  comply  with  that 
meetin'  an'  say  what  would  soot  'em  ?  " 

Parson  Hall  was  naturally  a  little  indignant  at  the 


386  STEADFAST. 

intrusive  Ammi,  whose  reputation  was  that  of  a  con 
ceited  and  meddlesome  old  fellow  wherever  he  was 
known ;  but  he  did  not  indulge  his  wrath  any  further 
than  a  cold  and  courteous  manner  and  restrained 
speech  expressed  it. 

"Mr.  Hopkins,"  he  said,  "there  are  times  in  life 
when  a  man  must  consider  higher  things  than  mere 
tranquillity  of  existence.  '  First  pure;  then  peace 
able/  is  the  order  of  Holy  Writ ;  and  be  assured  there 
is  no  abiding  peace  except  in  purity  of  conscience. 
What  I  have  done,  is,  I  am  confident,  right  and  just 
in  the  Lord's  sight.  The  consequences  I  must  abide  ; 
they  are  in  His  hand." 

"  Well,  well,  that  sounds  hullsome,  but  do  ye  now, 
honest,  think  it  al'ays  answers  to  live  right  up  to  the 
letter  o'  Scriptur'  ?  A'n't  it  better  not  to  give  occa 
sion  to  th'  enemy  to  revile  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  glad,  alway,  to  have  the  enemy  revile 
me,"  said  the  parson,  sturdy  as  Luther. 

"  Well,  —  why,  —  you  don't  seem  to  sense  it ;  I 
mean  an't  it  better  to  kind  of  com— promise  so  to 
speak ;  give  up  a  few  o'  your  idees  here  and  there,  for 
peace's  sake.  Why,  land's  sake!  do  see  what  you 
are  a  cornm'  to.  Here's  your  sellery  ain't  half-paid, 
at  least,  that's  the  tell ;  and  you  can't  get  folks  to 
take  no  int'rest  in  fixin'  up  the  meetin'-house ;  and 
the  hull  of  the  s'ciety  is  buzzin'  like  swarmin'  bees, 
and  ye  know  when  bees  doos  swarm  'tis  to  fly  out  o' 
the  old  hive ;  what's  a  goin'  to  become  of  you  and 
Mis'  Hall  ef  they  deepose  ye  from  the  ministry? 


THE    WORLD.  387 

and  I  have  heered  there  is  some  talk  on't.  Ain't  it 
a  sight  better  to  bend  than  to  break  ?  Is't  worth  all 
you'll  lose  to  be  so  sot  in  your  way  ?  Think  on't ! 
you've  got  a  good  home,  and  a  reasonable  good  sellery, 
and  nice  folks  in  the  church,  an'  good  neighbors  ; 
a'n't  it  the  best  way  to  give  in  a  mite  whilst  that 
you  can  ?  " 

".'All  these  things  will  I  give  thee,  if  thou  wilt  fall 
down  and  worship  me,' "  answered  Parson  Hall,  in  a 
tone  deep  and  solemn,  as  if  he  were  in  his  pulpit. 

Deacon  Hopkins  stood  aghast ;  then  his  face  grew 
red ;'  even  under  the  thin,  stiff  crop  of  hair  his  head 
flamed. 

"  Well  said !  well  said !  when  you  undertake  to 
even  a  deacon,  forty-five  year  in  good  and  reg'lar 
standin'  to  the  evil  one,  I  guess  it's  time  to  go,  and 
shake  the  dust  off  my  feet  a-goin ! "  squeaked  the 
irate  Ammi. 

Mr.  Hall  stretched  out  his  hand,  — 

"  Brother,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  not  of  you  when  I 
spoke ;  but  of  the  times  upon  times  when  I  have  pon 
dered  on  this  matter  in  the  silence  of  my  study,  and 
all  these  reasons  of  yours,  yea,  far  more  cogent  ones 
of  their  sort  have  confronted  me,  as  if  there  stood  at 
my  side  one  who  pleaded  with  me  ;  but  I  thank  God 
I  have  kept  the  faith.  Xo,  brother  !  though  I  and 
mine  be  sent  out  into  the  brook  Cherith,  there  to  be 
fed  by  ravens  in  a  homeless  solitude,  I  will  fear  no 
evil ;  the  Lord  will  provide ;  but  neither  man  nor 
devils  shall  make  me  lie.  I  did  that  which  the  Word 


388  STEADFAST. 

of  God,  my  conscience,  and  my  vows  at  the  altar 
called  upon  me  to  do ;  and  I  will  neither  repent  of  so 
doing  or  admit  that  it  was  wrong." 

Ammi  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"Well,"  he  said,  placated  but  yet  doubtful.  "If 
you  wa'n't  a  parson  I  should  say  you  was  the  pig- 
headedest  feller  I  ever  come  acrost.  But  I  s'pose 
you  think  you've  got  Scripter  for  't,  and  I  must  shut 
up." 

"  '  Be  thou  steadfast,  immovable,  always  abounding 
in  the  work  of  the  Lord,'  "  said  the  parson,  with  a  sad 
smile. 

"  Well,  I  guess  I'll  say  amen,"  responded  Ammi. 


CHAPTER  XXXVU. 

MORE. 

Who  ne'er  his  bread  in  sorrow  ate, 
Who  never  through  the  mournful  night 
Upon  his  couch  hath  weeping  sate. 
He  knows  you  not,  O  Powers  of  Light ! 

ALL  this  time  Esther  had  her  own  trouble  in  the 
keeping-room.  Madam  Stanley  had  but  just  returned 
from  England,  where  she  had  been  almost  ever  since 
Esther's  marriage ;  the  governor  having  gone  thither 
on  business  concerning  Sybil's  property,  as  well  as  a 
certain  legacy  left  him,  of  real  estate. 

Of  course  the  whole  matter  of  Parson  Hall's  contu 
macy,  and  the  holy  wrath  of  the  Consociation,  came 
to  their  ears  as  soon  as  possible  after  they  were  again 
settled  in  their  house  at  Trumbull,  and  with  her 
usual  domineering  spirit,  Madam  Stanley  proceeded 
to  the  parsonage  to  deal  with  the  parson  and  his  wife 
both ;  but  when  she  reached  the  house,  finding  that 
Mr.  Hall  was  closeted  with  Parson  Dyer,  she  turned 
upon  Esther. 

"  Well,  Dame  Hall !  I  hear  there  is  a  pretty  to-do 
in  your  church,  and  indeed  in  the  town  itself,  about 
your  husband's  obstinate  resistance  to  the  power 
ecclesiastic.  'Tis  mighty  odd,  methinks,  for  one  man 
to  set  up  his  will  against  the  whole  body  of  the 
church.  This  comes  of  schismatics.  Were  he  a 


390  STEADFAST. 

member  of  that  sound  and  wholesome  body  the  Eng 
lish  Church,  he  would  not  think  of  such  rebellion. 
Good  lack  !  I  would  he  were  under  the  thumb  of  a 
lord  bishop !  'Twere  well  for  his  soul,  and  for  his 
matters  temporal,  too." 

"Madam  Stanley,"  answered  Esther,  with  serene 
dignity,  "  Mr.  Hall  hath  obeyed  God  rather  than  man 
in  this  matter.  He  hath  a  clean  conscience  within, 
concerning  it." 

"  Fiddle-f  addle  !  so  says  every  man -jack  of  the  dis 
senters.  To  hear  the  fellows  among  whom  Sybil  hath 
settled  herself  talk  of  their  consciences,  one  would 
think  conscience  were  the  pope  himself.  Hath  your 
good  man  no  common-sense,  so  to  quarrel  with  his 
bread  and  butter  ?  " 

"I  think  he  hath  not  only  sense,  but  religion  to 
back  it,  withal,  Madam  Stanley.  And  well  I  believe, 
that  there  lives  not  any-k>rd  bishop,  nor  any  pope, 
who  could  beguile  Mr.  Hall  into  doing  the  thing  that 
unto  him  seemed  sin." 

Esther's  eyes  shone,  and  the  color  rose  in  her 
expressive  countenance,  as  she  looked  straight  into 
Madam  Stanley's  haughty  visage. 

"Tut,  tut,  Dame  Hall!  why  will  you  encourage 
him  to  cut  his  own  throat,  as  well  is  to  be  seen  you 
do  ?  I  hear  it  said  that  already  his  salary  is  delayed, 
that  the  meeting-house  is  dilapidated  more  than  is 
seemly  or  decent,  and  even  thr.t  the  Consociation  hold 
talk  of  deposing  him  from  the  ministry  for  contuma 
cious  conduct  and  contempt  of  ecclesiastic  authority. 


MORE.  391 

If  these  things  are  so,  and  you  have  any  such  influ 
ence  with  your  husband  as  a  good  wife  should  have, 
it  behooves  you  to  plead  with  him  for  his  own  good,  in 
season  and  out  of  season,  that  he  will  submit  himself 
unto  the  powers  that  be,  which  are  ordained  of  God, 
as  Holy  Scripture  saith." 

"  I  think,  Madam  Stanley,  you  misapprehend  the 
situation,"  said  Esther,  calmly.  "  Mr.  Hall  hath  not, 
knowledgably,  disobeyed  the  laws  of  the  Consoci 
ation.  Since  the  new  law,  concerning  preaching  to 
schismatics,  hath  been  passed,  he  has  not  once  min 
istered  to  the  Baptist  congregation ;  indeed,  that  peo 
ple  have  disbanded,  and  ceased  to  be  an  ecclesiastic 
body  for  more  than  a  year.  These  few  sheep  in  the 
wilderness  have  perished  of  spiritual  starvation,  and 
I  believe  the  Consociation  have  their  blood  upon  their 
hands  to  answer  for.  But  that  is  with  God.  Mr.  Hall's 
offence  was,  that  he  would  not  so  perjure  himself  before 
man  as  to  say  that  he  had  done  wrong  in  preaching 
the  gospel  to  them  who  were  hungering  and  thirsting 
therefor.  He  was  convinced  in  his  own  mind,  that 
neither  the  law  of  God  nor  the  Saybrook  Platform  — 
which  seems  unto  me  to  be  held  in  equal  respect  with 
scripture  in  these  churches  —  were  transgressed  by 
his  so  doing,  and  I  am  well  assured  that  neither  men 
nor  devils  will  force  him  to  lie  unto  God  and  man  by 
such  acknowledgment." 

"  Pshaw  !  I  like  this  prate  of  '  schismatics '  I 
What  are  ye  all  but  followers  of  heresy  and  schism, 
in  departing  from  the  faith  of  your  fathers  and  the 


'•W'2  STEADFAST. 

mother  country  ?  What  does  the  dictum  of  a  little 
body  of  country  dissenters  import,  that  a  man  should 
cast  away  his  living  rather  than  temporize  with,  and 
appease  them  ?  I  lay  this  at  your  door  in  great  meas 
ure,  Dame  Esther.  I  see  where  his  contumacy  is 
cherished  with  sympathy  and  respect.  Moreover, 
were  this  house  filled,  as  it  should  be,  with  a  flock  of 
children,  clamoring  for  daily  bread,  he  would  not  be 
so  stiff-necked ! " 

Esther's  face  was  scarlet  with  anger  and  shame; 
she  spoke  hotly  in  reply.  The  rather  abstruse  read 
ing,  for  that  time,  with  which  she  had  solaced  her 
loneliness,  came  to  her  aid  now. 

"  Madam  Stanley,  I  think  the  Church  of  England 
is  itself  a  dissenting  body  from  the  beginning.  Sure 
Martin  Luther  dissented  from  Rome,  and,  denying 
papacy,  brought  the  reformed  religion  into  its  place. 
If  since  this  hath  degenerated  into  prelacy,  it  is  none 
the  less  a  dissenting  body  from  its  birth ;  and  well  I 
know  that  neither  papacy  nor  prelacy,  nor  the  tyr 
anny  of  this  schism,  as  it  pleaseth  you  to  call  it,  will 
shake  my  husband  from  the  rock  whereon  he  standeth. 
For  poverty,  if  it  cometh  upon  us  for  this  cause,  let  it 
come !  I  thank  God  there  are  but  two  of  us  to 
strengthen  each  other  and  to  suffer,  if  more  would 
make  Mr.  Hall's  soul  falter  in  the  path  of  duty. 
But  I  cannot  think  that  any  such  consideration  would 
daunt  him.  I  am  proud  and  joyful  to  believe  that  he 
loveth  God  more  than  His  gifts,  granted  or  denied ; 
and  for  me,  I  am  willing  to  labor  with  mine  own 


MOKE.  393 

hands  for  my  daily  bread  —  and  his  —  rather  than 
have  him  abate  one  jot  or  tittle  of  his  righteous 
obedience  to  the  Word.  I  care  not  so  much  for  the 
Saybrook  Platform ! " 

"  Well  said,  young  woman !  well  said !  I  love  a 
spirity  dame  who  will  do  battle  for  her  good  man, 
even  though  I  be  a  little  worsted  in  the  fray ;  but  yet 
I  am  not  shaken  in  my  "  — 

The  door  from  the  kitchen  opened  with  a  rush  and 
Tempy  Hopkins  burst  into  the  room,  flung  her  taffety 
mantle  and  her  calash  down  on  the  nearest  chair,  and 
flying  up  to  Esther,  embraced  her  with  both  arms. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  soul !  my  dear  soul !  "  she  exclaimed, 
panting  with  heat  and  haste ;  "  I  have  heered  about 
thy  troubles  so  much  I  could  hear  it  no  longer  with 
out  a  sight  of  thee.  What  will  become  of  this  world 
I  don't  know  no  more  than  nothing  when  sech  a  pious, 
meek-sperited  man  as  Parson  Hall  is  set  upon  by  his 
brethering,  and  parsecuted  !  " 

"Fie  upon  you,  Goody  Hopkins!"  interrupted 
Madam  Stanley  ;  "  do  you  call  a  man  pious  and  meek 
who  setteth  himself  up  against  constituted  authority 
as  Parson  Hall  hath  done  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  a  copper  about  constitooted  'thorities 
ma'am,  not  when  they  try  to  stomp  on  a  good  man ; 
pious  he  is,  for  I've  knowed  him  many  a  year;  and 
meek  he  is  too,  for  I've  seen  him  when 

Afflictions  sore 
Long  time  he  bore. 


394  STEADFAST. 

as  my  grandsir's  gravestone  says ;  but  the  worm  will 
turn,  ye  know;  and  he's  got  more  grit  'n  a  fennel- 
worm  even,  and  they're  consider'ble  spunky.  Deacon 
says,  ses  he,  '  I  ain't  reelly  made  up  my  mind  what  to 
think  'bout  this  business,'  when  in  come  Eben  Salt 
and  tells  that  how  there  was  talk  of  deeposin'  Mr. 
Hall,  and  leavin'  of  him  to  starve,  mabbe.  Then  I  riz 
up,  and  ses  I,  '  He  won't  starve,  not  a  mite  ;  the  Lord 
'11  send  ravens  for  to  feed  him  fust.  And  I'll  be  one 
of  'em.'  '  Oh  !  ho !  ho  ! '  says  deacon ;  <  don't  ye  be  so 
forehanded,  Temp'rance.  We  a'n't  got  no  great  o' 
means  ourselves,  and  don't  ye  make  no  rash  prom 
ises  ! '  <  I  don't  care  nothin'  for  that,'  ses  I.  <  Whilst 
that  I've  got  a  crust  o'  bread,  Easter  Hall  shall  have 
half  on  't,  and  parson  t'other  half  ! '  <  Law,  now  ! ' 
ses  deacon,  <  don't  ye  take  on  so !  the  Lord  '11  per- 
vide.'  '  Yes  ! '  says  I.  '  I've  heerd  that  before  !  It's 
mighty  easy  to  shove  your  feller-creeters  over  on  to 
the  Lord  ;  you  ^on't  noway  consider  how  that  he  per- 
vides  for  Jem  by  the  means  of  man.  We  don't  have 
meracles  now-a-days,  though  I  must  say  'twould  be 
nigh  about  to  a  meracle  if  you  done  anything  for  any 
body  't  you  wa'n't  obleeged  to  by  law  ! '  Then  he  got 
wrathy ;  and  we  had  quite  a  little  season,  nyther 
short  nor  sweet;  and  the  eend  on't  was  that  he 
'greed  to  tackle  up  the  colt  and  come  down  here  to 
deal  with  the  parson,  and  see  if  he  couldn't  noway 
help  tow'rdst  straightenin'  on  him  out,  as  he  called  it. 
Deacon  thinks  'twould  have  improved  the  airth  ef  the 
Lord  had  asked  his  idees  about  makin'  on  't.  Some 


MORE.  395 

pork  will  bile  soj  ye  know.  So  I  clapped  on  my 
calash  and  come  too  ;  I'm  'fraider  o'  that  colt  than  I 
be  of  the  Evil  One  a'most ;  he  don'  know  what  his 
front  legs  is  good  for,  yet,  he's  so  giv'  to  standin'  up 
on  his  hinder  ones.  I  was  scar't  out  o'  my  life  comin' 
but  I  would  ha'  come  ef  it  had  a'  be'ii  a  fiery  flyin' 
dragon  instead  of  a  black  hoss,  I  wanted  to  see  you 
so,  Easter ;  and  to  tell  ye  to  take  heart,  child.  You 
stan'  by  the  parson  and  spunk  him  up,  dear ;  I  dono 
as  he  needs  it,  but  you  can  make  the  trouble  a  sight 
easier  for  him." 

"  Goody  Hopkins,"  spoke  out  Madam  Stanley,  who 
was  drawing  on  her  gloves  to  go.  "  It  seemeth  that 
you  scarce  know  your  place  here.  Doth  it  become 
you  to  aid  and  counsel  Dame  Hall  in  this  matter  ? 
To  encourage  this  obdurate  parson  with  your  comfort 
able  words  ?  You  are  of  another  parish  to  begin 
with,  and  another  station  in  life ;  it  passeth  a  jest 
that  you  should  put  yourself  up  in  a  godly  minis 
ter's  household  with  your  advice  on  spiritual  matters. 
Go  your  ways  to  your  pots  and  pans  and  your  frugal 
deacon,  Goody  ;  intermeddle  not  here  !  " 

"  Goody  me  none  of  your  goodys,  my  fine  madam  !  " 
shrieked  Tempy,  with  her  arms  akimbo  and  her  little 
puckered  face  red  with  anger.  "  And  for  my  station 
in  life,  'tis  respectabler  than  a  cumberer  of  the 
ground  who  nyther  toils  nor  spins  !  Look  to  the  pit 
whence  you  was  digged  yourself,  madam,  before  you 
Goody  me  !  What  have  all  the  Stonebridges  been 
unto  this  colony  ?  What  evil  savors  follow  after 


396  STEADFAST. 

them  as  though  they  was  pole-cats  ?  Is  not  John 
Stonebridge's  bastard  abiding  at  Hillside  Farm  to 
day  ?  You'd  better  look  back  to  them  that  went 
before  ye,  and  not  sass  honest  women  that  has  come 
of  godly  payrents.  I  come  here  out  of  love  for  my 
dear  friends,  to  help  'em  and  comfort  'em.  What'd 
you  come  for  ?  Why  to  bring  a  railin'  accusation 
ag'inst  'em  as  Scriptur'  ses.  What " 

The  door  opened  again,  and  Parson  Dyer  came  in. 
Madam  Stanley  swept  past  him  without  a  word,  and 
entering  her  chariot  with  the  air  of  an  offended  pea 
cock,  drove  off,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

Tempy's  reference  to  the  Stonebridge  family  had 
wounded  her  to  the  quick,  for  well  she  knew  what 
their  past  record  had  been  ;  and  for  her  own  ancestry 
she  had  not  much  more  to  say  on  the  side  that  had 
intermarried  with  John  Stonebridge's  ancestors. 
Even  the  memory  of  the  few  brilliant  exceptions 
to  that  record  had  not  been  able  to  leaven  the 
whole  lump  in  the  eyes  of  their  fellow  colonists. 

As  soon  as  Parson  Dyer  closed  the  door  behind 
Madam  Stanley,  Tempy  sat  down  in  the  nearest 
chair,  in  haste,  unfortunately,  it  was  that  which 
held  her  calash  and  mantle,  and  burst  into  a  flood 
of  angry  tears. 

Esther  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  parson's  and 
hurried  to  her  friend. 

"  Dear  Tempy ! "  she  said,  «  don't  cry ;  don't !  Madam 
Stanley  hath  gone ;  she  will  vex  you  no  further." 

"  Indeed,  1  think  she  swept  out  with  the  air  of  one 


MORE.  397 

something  vexed  herself ! "  said  the  parson,  with  a 
quiet  smile. 

"  W-w-we-el ! "  sobbed  Tempy,  "  I  dono  but  she 
was.  I  aimed  to  give  her  as  good  as  she  give  me. 
Oh !  o-oh !  I  never  was  so  sassed  before  in  all  my 
born  days  !  never  !  '  Goody/  indeed !  Wa'n't  her 
pa  Stonebridge  Edwards,  I'd  like  to  know?  As 
big  a  raskill  as  ever  driv'  his  coach-an-four  through 
Har'ford  town  ;  an'  to  hear  her  talk  as  though  she 
was  king,  lord,  an'  devil ! " 

"My  friend!  my  friend!  remonstrated  Parson 
Dyer,  "Doth  not  Scripture  tell  us  in  those  days 
they  shall  say  no  more,  'the  fathers  have  eaten  a 
sour  grape,  and  the  children's  teeth  shall  be  set  on 
edge  ? ' " 

"  Well,  if  it  doos,  I  can't  gainsay  it ;  but  there's  a 
sight  in  the  breed  after  ail ;  didn't  you  go  an'  buy  a 
Narraganset  pacer  now,  Parson  Dyer  ?  and  did  it 
come  of  cart-hosses,  or  Arabs  like  the  governor's  ? 
Not  a  mite !  and  I  tell  ye  Stonebridge  blood  is  bad 
blood.  Here  I  be,  come  to  comfort  up  Mis'  Hall, 
friendly  like;  hearin'  she  and  he  is  like  to  be  driv' 
out  of  house  and  home,  and  want  for  bread,  jest 
because  he's  steadfast  to  his  conscience ;  and  find 
here  my  madam  a  tryin'  to  make  him  give  in,  or  a 
persuadin'  Easter  to  try  and  make  him,  and  I  hadn't 
said  ten  words  before  down  she  comes,  a-pounce,  like 
cat  to  mouse  and  bids  me  not  meddle  with  my  betters. 
Lawks  !  as  if  she  was  anybody's  betters ! " 

"  Softly,  softly,  Mistress    Hopkins ;    answer  not  a 


398  STEADFAST. 

fool  according  to  his  folly;  be  not  hasty  in  thy 
spirit,  if  Madam  Stanley  is.  Let  her  pass ;  a 
proud,  loveless,  childless  woman  hath  her  own  sor 
rows  ;  and  for  our  friends  here,  know  that  so  long  as 
Billions  Dyer  hath  a  home,  they  shall  share  it  in 
their  extremity,  and  should  I  be  called  to  cross  over 
Jordan  before  such  crisis  comes,  the  home  shall  be 
all  theirs." 

Tempy  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  flowered  apron. 

"  I  always  said  you  was  as  good  as  the  Lord  ever 
made,  Parson  Dyer ! "  she  said. 

Esther  grasped  his  hand,  her  lips  trembled,  but  her 
beautiful  eyes  spoke  for  her ;  they  shone  with  affec 
tion  and  gratitude  that  he  felt  to  the  depth  of  his 
heart. 

"  Well !  here's  the  fust  raven ! "  Ternpy  said  to 
herself. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

AT   LAST. 

The  flower  of  the  hour  may  have  vanished 

In  tempest  and  night ; 
Its  bloom  and  perfume  may  be  banished, 

From  sense  and  from  sight; 
And  desolate  all  the  fair  garden 

Of  color  and  glow : 
But  that  God  is  its  master  and  warden, 

The  fruit-time  shall  show. 

WITH  the  self-distrust  of  a  conscientious  man, 
Philemon  Hall  began  to  consider  after  these  visi 
tations  whether  he  had  done  all  that  Christian  char 
ity  demanded  of  him  to  make  peace  with  his  brethren. 
Nothing  could  shake  him  from  the  standpoint  of 
right  and  duty  as  to  what  he  had  done  in  preaching 
to  the  Baptists;  but  in  view  of  the  disturbances 
among  his  own  people  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
might  once  more  try  to  conciliate  the  angry  Conso 
ciation.  It  was  now  five  years  since  this  melancholy 
controversy  began,  and  the  confession,  or  rather  the 
appeal  he  offered  them  opened  by  saying  that  for 
more  than  three  years  he  had  given  himself  to 
prayer  and  meditation  concerning  this  matter,  and 
likewise  studied  upon  it;  but  he  could  not  be  con 
vinced  in  conscience  that  his  preaching  to  the  Bap 
tists  was  contrary  to  the  Holy  Scripture  or  to  the 


400  STEADFAST. 

mind  of  God ;  but  he  was  willing  to  humble  himself 
so  far  as  in  honesty  he  could,  and  the  document  con 
cluded  thus,  — 

And  now,  Gentlemen,  I  humblie  crave  Forgiveness;  let  my 
Ignorance  of  It's  being  a  Crime  apolagize  for  me  that  I  may  Be 
Restored.  And  I  would  humblie  offer  one  Motive  to  engage 
your  Compassion,  viz.  a  prospect  of  Peace  among  my  People 
who  have  been  uneasy,  for  1  think  that  in  other  Respecks  they 
are  Friendly  and  kind;  but  this  case  has  been  an  Uneasiness 
with  them,  and  a  Prinsipal  uneasiness,  if  I  may  Judge  by  their 
Complayntes,  or  what  I  heare  from  their  own  Mouthes.  And 
therefor  Gentlemen  as  you  Are  professed  Lovers  of  Peace,  you 
will  undoubtedlie  Promote  it  by  restoring  your  unworthy  Serv't. 

PHILEMON  HALL. 

Stung  perhaps  by  the  implied  or  suspected  sarcasm 
of  calling  this  belligerent  and  implacable  body  "  pro 
fessed  lovers  of  peace  "  ;  angered  no  doubt  by  the  per 
sistent  refusal  of  Parson  Hall,  to  say  he  had  done 
wrong  in  consenting  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  schis 
matics  ;  well-nigh  as  wrathful  as  if  he  had  said  that 
he  was  not  sure  that  God  would  damn  the  heathen 
tribes  who  had  never  heard  of  Him,  without  giving 
them  another  chance  in  another  world,  — the  Consocia 
tion  showed  themselves  to  be  men  of  like  passions  as 
we  are  by  refusing  to  accept  this  confession,  or  even 
grant  it  a  second  reading.  They  did  not,  however,  let 
Parson  Hall  alone;  with  a  perseverance  too  tedious 
to  detail  they  discussed  his  case  at  every  meeting ; 
wrote  him  letters  officially  and  personally ;  visited 
him  for  reproof  and  remonstrance  ;  exhorted  at  him 
and  prayed  for  him  in  the  pulpit,  till  he  might  have 


AT   LAST.  401 

said  in  the  spirit  of  the  unrighteous  judge  that  he 
would  grant  their  request  because  by  their  continual 
coming  they  wearied  him.  But  no  such  truckling  to 
ease  and  sloth  was  possible  to  Philemon  Hall ;  not  a 
step  would  he  take  to  reverse  his  position ;  he  was 
like  Luther  on  the  road  to  the  Diet  of  Wurms, 
though  he  saw  hundreds  of  devils  skipping  upon  the 
housetops  by  the  way,  they  should  not  hinder  him. 

Yet  being  merely  a  mortal  man  this  continual  drop 
ping  did  wear  upon  him ;  he  grew  thin,  pale,  and  list 
less ;  he  lost  his  appetite  and  consequently  his 
strength,  and  was  ill-prepared  to  meet  the  crisis 
when  it  came. 

For,  one  year  after  they  had  refused  to  accept  his 
humble  yet  manful  confession  the  last  confession  he 
made,  there  was  another  meeting  of  the  Consociation, 
at  which  they  unanimously  passed  this  edict. 

This  Consociation  do  now  and  upon  the  Whole  judge  and 
determine  ye  sayde  Hall,  unworthie  the  Ministereal  character 
and  Christian  communion;  and  Accordinglie  do,  in  the  name 
of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  accordinge  to  Ye  Worde  of  God,  and 
the  Powers  innvested  in  this  Consociation  by  ye  Ecclesiastical 
constitution  of  the  Government,  Depose  the  saide  Hall  from  his 
Ministereal  Office  and  ministereal  and  Pastoral  relation  to  ye 
First  Church  in  sayde  Trumbull  and  doe  Debarr  and  Suspende 
him  from  Communion  in  any  of  the  Churches  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ 

Duly  engrossed  by  the  scribe  of  the  meeting,  signed 
by  its  members,  and  sealed  with  a  great  seal,  the 
foregoing  document  was  left  at  Mr.  Hall's  door  by 
Deacon  Stearns  of  Chester,  deputed  for  that  errand  j 


402  STEADFAST. 

he  was  a  kindly  man,  and  thankful  enough  to  find 
that  the  parson  was  out  for  the  morning,  so  he  only 
asked  Mrs.  Hall  to  lay  it  on  the  minister's  study 
table,  and  rode  away  through  the  pink-blossoming 
orchards,  by  the  new-leaved  forests,  and  sparkling 
streams  of  June,  with  a  heavy  heart,  for  he  had  once 
been  of  the  minority  who  favored  Mr.  Hall,  and  was 
still  uncertain  in  his  own  mind  about  the  rights  of 
the  matter ;  though,  like  all  the  Laodicean  tribe,  he 
had  now  voted  with  the  majority  because  they  were 
the  majority. 

Philemon  Hall  came  in  an  hour  before  dinner-time 
and  went  as  usual  directly  to  his  study ;  he  looked  at 
the  ominous  document  and  shivered  a  little,  though 
the  day  was  summer-warm  ;  but  he  was  no  coward  ; 
he  took  up  the  paper  with  a  steady  hand,  opened,  and 
read  it. 

For  a  moment  his  brain  reeled  as  if  from  a  blow-, 
then  he  sat  down,  and  flinging  his  arms  across  the 
table,  laid  his  head  upon  them,  and  the  force  of  the 
situation  came  full  upon  him.  Outcast!  Forbidden 
to  preach !  Debarred  from  the  table  of  his  Lord ! 
What  worse  penalty  could  have  been  dealt  out  to  him 
if  he  were  the  vilest  sinner  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ? 
All  the  long  train  of  consequences  made  a  sort  of 
funereal  procession  through  his  mind ;  he  saw  him 
self  and  Esther  ostracized  from  social  life,  which  in 
those  days  was  inextricably  mixed  with  religious 
affairs ;  he  saw  his  means  of  living  vanishing  from 
his  grasp,  for  he  had  no  handicraft  to  fall  back  on  j 


AT   LAST.  403 

his  life,  his  soul,  were  all  fitted  for  and  given  over  to 
preaching  the  Gospel ;  he  saw  his  isolation  from  his 
brethren,  his  people,  almost  from  his  kind,  lowering 
over  him  like  a  cloud  of  blackness ;  he  seemed  to  him 
self  to  be  exiled  from  God  and  man  both,  and  then 
came  the  thought  of  deepest  anguish,  the  thought  of 
our  Lord  upon  the  Cross  when  the  death  throe  of 
His  humanity  darkened  even  His  Godhead,  and  he 
uttered  the  desperate  cry  of  despairing  man,  the 
words  that  broke  now  from  Philemon  Hall's  tortured 
spirit. 

" '  My  God  !  my  God !  why  hast  Thou  forsaken 
me  ?  > " 

Had  he  not  been  faithful  to  God  in  all  this  weary 
past  ?  Had  he  not  glorified  Him  in  the  fires  ?  What 
but  loyalty  to  his  Master's  will  and  word  had  brought 
him  to  this  pass  ? 

Involuntarily  he  broke  out  in  the  familiar  words  of 
the  Psalmist.  "  Thou  hast  known  my  reproach,  and 
my  shame  and  my  dishonor ;  mine  adversaries  are  all 
before  thee  !  Keproach  hath  broken  my  heart ;  and 
I  am  full  of  heaviness ;  and  I  looked  for  some  to  take 
pity,  but  there  was  none  ;  and  for  comforters,  but  I 
found  none  !  "  His  whole  nature  cried  aloud  for  some 
companionship  in  this  dreadful  solitude  of  grief. 
"  Oh  !  had  Rachel  but  lived  !  "  was  his  first  thought ; 
yet  even  as  the  thought  framed  itself,  he  recalled  the 
fact  that  he  had  never  carried  his  serious  troubles,  or 
what  had  seemed  serious  then,  to  her.  She  had  been 
sheltered  by  his  care  from  every  bitter  wind  that 


404  STEADFAST. 

chanced  to  blow,  morally  or  physically.     Now! if 

Esther  could  but  have  loved  him ! 

At  that  moment  Esther  came  in.  She  had  come  to 
say  that  dinner  was  ready.  Dinner  will  no  doubt  be 
boiling  in  the  pot  at  the  crack  of  doom !  our  daily 
necessities  go  on  through  all  tribulation  or  despair ; 
the  protest  of  the  poor  feeble  body,  against  the  pangs 
it  suffers  from  the  strong  and  agonizing  soul. 

She  saw  at  once  that  something  had  come  to  Mr. 
Hall ;  not  only  did  his  posture  tell  the  story,  but  one 
hard  dry  sob,  the  awful  sob  of  a  man  in  deep  mental 
suffering,  shook  his  whole  frame  as  she  entered ;  she 
sprang  forward  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Philemon  !  what  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  voice  no 
man  could  mistake;  for  in  that  instant  love,  true 
wife-love  was  born  in  her  bosom,  full-fashioned  and 
strong,  no  puny  or  untimely  child,  but  the  growth  of 
silent  years,  ready  to  see  the  light. 

He  lifted  his  head  a  little  and  with  one  hand 
pushed  the  decree  of  the  consociation  toward  her ;  she 
took  it  up  and  read  the  brief  anathema.  She  did  not 
pause  to  consider,  her  soul  was  in  a  tumult  of  wrath, 
and  protest,  and  indignant  love ;  she  fell  on  her  knees 
at  her  husband's  side,  clasped  both  arms  about  his 
neck,  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  cried  out, 
"  My  dear,  dear  husband  !  My  dear  !  don't !  The 
cruel  men !  " 

Philemon  Hall  raised  his  head  and  looked  into  her 

face ;  he  could  not  believe  he  had  heard  her  aright. 

" Esther!"   he   asked   hoarsely.      "Do  you  know 


AT   LAST.  405 

what  you  say  ?  Can  it  be  ?  Oh,  woman !  speak, 
speak  !  lest  it  be  as  a  dream  when  one  awaketh  !  " 

Esther  lifted  her  head  too,  and  returned  his  gaze ; 
her  face  was  one  roseate  blush,  her  red  lips  parted 
eagerly,  her  eyes  lambent  as  planets,  with  love  and 
pity,  there  was  neither  doubt,  dread,  nor  coldness  in 
that  lovely  countenance. 

"  My  dear,  dear  husband !  "  she  said,  in  a  passionate 
whisper. 

The  parson's  face  lit  up  like  a  sun-burst  through  a 
cloud ;  he  gathered  Esther  close  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her  as  solemnly  as  if  that  kiss  had  been  their 
last ;  then  he  lifted  his  face  heavenward  and  said,  as 
if  he  saw  into  those  celestial  regions. 

"  Lord  in  wrath  thou  hast  remembered  mercy.  I 
will  sing  praises  unto  thee  while  I  have  my  being ! " 

It  did  indeed  seem  to  him  as  if  a  miracle  had  been 
wrought  in  his  behalf,  but  he  was  too  humble  and  too 
little  introverted  to  question  Esther  or  himself  how 
this  wondrous  blessing  had  been  brought  about.  It 
was  enough  for  him  that  it  had  come  in  his  hour  of 
direst  need,  when  not  a  ray  of  light  seemed  either 
near  or  possible. 

Dinner  stood  in  its  dishes  long  into  the  afternoon 
that  day,  while  Parson  Hall  and  his  wife  held  counsel 
together  concerning  this  last  blow. 

"  It  seemeth  little  to  me  now,  Esther,"  he  said,  with 
a  radiant  smile,  "  the  flesh  was  weak  before,  and  the 
spirit  failed ;  verily,  I  thought  that  God  had  forsaken 
me  as  well  as  man ;  I  was  impatient  when  I  should 


406  STEADFAST. 

have  trusted,  I  was  so  solitary  that  I  became  unduly 
cast  down." 

"  Do  not  say  so,  Philemon  !  You  have  endured 
even  as  a  martyr  of  old ;  and  but  that  I  was  fearful 
lest  you  could  not  abide  it,  I  should  have  tried  to 
comfort  you  before." 

"  Fearful,  Esther  !  of  me  ?  " 

"Even  so.  Does  it  become  a  sinner  like  me  to 
love  a  saint  like  you  ?  Much  less  to  think  my  affec 
tion  could  be  endurable  to  you  who  know  of  mine  own 
confession  what  I  had  done  ! " 

"Hush  !  hush  !  my  wife  !  "  and  Philemon  Hall  laid 
his  hand  lightly  on  her  lips.  "  Speak  no  more  of  the 
past ;  let  us  forget  the  things  that  are  behind,  and  lay 
our  sins  before  Him  only  who  hath  loved  us  and 
washed  us  in  His  blood.  Nor  call  me  a  saint,  Esther. 
Who  is  clean  in  His  sight  ?  I  am  a  man,  with  a 
man's  sins  and  follies  struggling  within  me ;  and  I 
may  not  find  peace  except  in  the  sacrifice  of  Christ  for 
sinners.  We  are  saved  by  grace,  both  of  us ;  let  us 
hereafter  walk  together,  being  agreed.  And  for  me, 
since  I  heard  your  words  of  cheer,  and  saw  your  be 
loved  face  upon  my  bosom,  with  shining  eyes  looking 
into  mine  as  never  did  they  look  before.  I  feel  like 
the  youth  unto  whom  the  prophet  of  old  spake,  say 
ing,  '  Fear  not !  for  they  that  be  with  us  are  more 
than  they  that  be  with  them.'  I  trust  I  should  have 
had  strength  to  be  steadfast  unto  the  end ;  but  lo 
now,  'out  of  strength  cometh  forth  sweetness/  and 
manna  from  above  into  this  wilderness  of  Sin." 


AT    LAST.  407 

It  made  even  Esther's  happy  heart  quiver  with  late 
remorse  to  see  how  the  light  returned  in  a  calm  shin 
ing  to  her  husband's  eyes,  and  peace  to  his  worn  face  ; 
their  unnatural  position  toward  each  other  had  been 
irksome  to  her,  tormenting  to  him  ;  but  now  the  real 
life  of  a  home  sheltered  them ;  they  were  no  longer 
young  lovers,  but  Esther's  love  was  young,  and  Phile 
mon's  as  tried  and  faithful  as  his  truth. 

Aunt  E-uthy  was  the  first  person  to  hear  of  the 
action  which  deposed  Mr.  Hall  from  the  ministry,  and 
that  very  evening  she  went  over  after  sundown  to  the 
parsonage  to  give  her  hearty  and  affectionate  sym 
pathy  to  Mr.  Hall ;  but  when  her  slight  knock  at  the 
side  door  was  answered  and  she  went  in,  she  found 
no  downcast,  or  unhappy,  or  wrathful  man  there. 

Mr.  Hall  sat  on  the  chintz  sofa  beside  Esther,  hold 
ing  one  of  her  hands  like  a  lover,  —  as  he  was. 
Esther  started  and  blushed,  but  the  parson  tightened 
his  grasp.  "  Sit  here,  Miss  Ruthy,"  he  said,  making 
a  place  for  the  good  woman  at  his  other  side.  "  You 
came,  I  know,  to  condole  with  me  ;  and  indeed  I  think 
I  have  been  dealt  with  sharply,  but  I  have  good 
courage  ;  my  dear  wife  and  I  have  talked  the  matter 
over,  and  by  God's  grace  I  will  not  cease  to  preach  ; 
what  can  man  do  unto  me  ?  And  the  Lord  hath  given 
me  a  home  wherein  to  rest  and  be  comforted  in  the 
pauses  of  the  battle." 

Aunt  Ruthy's  sweet  old  eyes  grew  dim;  she  did 
not  understand  all  that  she  saw,  but  she  knew  that 
her  saint  had  found  a  shrine,  and  that  was  enough  for 


408  STEADFAST. 

her  tender  and  unselfish  heart ;  she  looked  round  into 
Esther's  face,  blooming  as  she  had  never  seen  it,  and 
said  half  under  her  breath,  — 

"  Thank  God,  and  take  courage  !  " 

"  I  will,"  answered  the  parson,  reverently. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

NOT    DESTROYED. 

Stern  lawgiver!  yet  thou  dost  wear 
The  Godhead's  most  benignant  grace ; 
Nor  know  I  anything  so  fair 
As  is  the  light  upon  thy  face. 

IT  seemed  indeed  to  Philemon  Hall  that  the  world 
wore  a  new  face  for  him  now ;  he  was  not  a  man 
whom  joy  could  enervate  or  absorb ;  his  duty  reigned 
over  all  other  inducements,  and  was  respected  as  the 
ruler  of  his  life ;  but  it  gave  duty  a  new  aspect,  and 
his  loyalty  thereto  a  fresh  impetus  to  know  that  at 
last  Esther  loved  him.  He  went  out  into  the  fra}^ 
once  more  determined  to  resist  the  tyranny  and  injus 
tice  of  the  Consociation  as  long  as  life  should  last,  if 
it  became  necessary. 

Some  time  before,  in  the  thick  of  his  troubles,  while 
yet  all  his  flock  were  with  one  accord  on  his  side  of 
the  dispute,  his  church  had  by  its  own  voluntary  ac 
tion  voted  to  renounce  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Conso 
ciation,  and  become  an  independent  body  ;  now,  this 
was  a  point  of  support  to  Parson  Hall,  for,  shortly 
after  his  deposement,  a  petition  was  preferred  before 
the  General  Court  that  they  would  eject  Mr.  Hall 
from  his  meeting-house,  that  a  regular  minister  might 
be  settled  in  his  place.  This  could  not  be  done,  since 
409 


410  STEADFAST. 

the  church  in  Trumbnll  belonged  to  no  ecclesiastical 
jurisdiction,  and,  accordingly,  the  first  Sunday  after 
Mr.  Hall  had  not  only  been  turned  out  of  the  min 
istry  but  practically  ex-communicated  from  the  church 
because  he  would  not  deny  and  repudiate  his  con 
scientious  convictions,  he  had  the  church  bell  rung  at 
the  proper  hour,  and  having  as  usual  made  a  short 
prayer  of  invocation  went  on  with  the  services. 

The  church  was  well  filled,  though  some  of  the 
congregation  went  with  fear  and  trembling,  uncertain 
whether  Mr.  Hall  would  preach,  or,  if  he  did,  whether 
they  \vould  stay  and  hear  him. 

He  began  his  second  prayer,  however,  before  any 
man  or  woman  left  the  house;  his  face  uplifted,  liis 
hands  clasped,  his  voice  full  of  deep  emotion.  "  Oh, 
Lord,  Thou  art  our  Father,"  he  said,  "  though 
Abraham  be  ignorant  of  us,  and  Israel  acknowledge 
us  not;  Thou  art  our  Father;  our  Eedeemer;  Thy 
name  is  from  everlasting.  And  because  we  are  Thy 
dear  children  whom  Thou  hast  loved  with  an  ever 
lasting  love  and  saved  with  an  eternal  salvation,  we 
bring  to  Thee  our  wants  and  our  needs,  knowing  that 
Thou  wilt  not  give  us  stones  for  bread,  but  will  grant 
our  prayers  as  seemeth  good  unto  Thee.  Lord,  give 
us  strength  to  do  that  which  is  right  and  true ;  en 
due  us  with  Thine  own  power,  that  our  duty  may  lie 
plain  before  us  and  \ve  may  be  able  to  do  it  to  the  last 
jot  and  tittle.  Give  us  that  peace  in  believing  which 
is  in  itself  courage;  help  us  to  'put  on  the  whole 
armor  of  God,  to  fight  the  -good  fight,  to  lay  hold  on 


NOT    DESTROYED.  41  1 

eternal  life.'  Yea.  Lord,  though  we  lay  clown  our  lives 
for  Thee,  let  us  be  Thy  faithful  servants  and  soldiers, 
and  endure  the  shame  that  cometh  upon  us,  the 
estrangement  of  friends,  the  censure  of  brethren,  the 
loss  of  all  earthly  things,  rather  than  deny  Thee  or 
betray  Thee.  Life  is  Thy  gift ;  all  we  have  and  are 
cometh  from  Thee  ;  let  us  with  joy  and  gratitude 
glorify  Thee  even  in  the  tires,  and  offer  up  to  Thee 
our  souls  and  bodies  to  serve  Thee  as  living  sacrifices, 
holy  and  acceptable  unto  God. 

u  And  oh !  Lord,  let  us  not  be  cast  down,  neither 
destroyed.  If  Thou  art  with  us  can  any  be  against 
us  ?  Remember  this  Thy  temple,  where  our  fathers 
worshipped  Thee  before  we  were  ;  build  it  up,  0  Lord ! 
Let  Thy  truth  keep  its  walls,  and  Thy  salvation  be  its 
bulwarks.  Restore  unto  it  the  joy  of  them  that 
shout  in  harvest,  and  be  the  gathering  in  of  souls 
here,  like  unto  the  crowding  of  doves  that  fly  to  their 
windows.  For  if  Thou  dwellest  here,  who  shall  turn 
the  head  to  mock  as  they  pass  by  ?  or  say  <  Aha !  how 
is  Jerusalem  fallen  ! '  Come  down  from  Thy  dwelling- 
place  unto  our  altar,  and  touch  it  with  fire  from 
heaven ;  then  shall  all  men  know  that  the  sceptre 
hath  not  departed  from  Zion,  but  that  the  Lord 
is  there. 

11  And  oh,  dear  Father !  if  there  be  those  who  seem 
to  be  our  enemies,  who  thrust  out  their  tongues 
against  us  and  turn  their  faces  from  us,  do  Thou  shine 
into  their  hearts  with  all  the  splendor  and  sweetness 
of  Thy  great  love  to  man.  With  the  flame  of  Thy 


412  STEADFAST. 

divine  goodness  melt  their  souls,  and  separate  the 
pure  gold  within  them  from  the  dross  of  mortal  pas 
sion  and  prejudice,  that  they  may  shine  with  Thy 
light,  and  be  Thy  treasured  vessels.  Be  Thou  with 
them  and  bless  them  in  their  going  out  and  their 
coming  in  ;  bless  their  basket  and  their  store ;  give 
them  peace  on  earth,  and  goodwill  toward  man.  And 
finally,  minister  unto  them  an  abundant  entrance  into 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.  And  Thine  shall  be  the 
glory  forever  :  Amen." 

There  was  something  in  this  fervent,  tender  prayer, 
so  different  from  the  usual  formal  petitions  presented 
to  God,  as  one  might  lay  an  engrossed  plea,  drawn  up 
by  a  lawyer,  before  an  earthly  monarch,  that  the 
congregation  were  taken  by  surprise. 

Parson  Hall  had  not  prayed  for  his  enemies  as 
if  they  were  men  of  evil  disposition  and  causeless 
anger,  but  merely  as  if  they  were  mistaken  brethren, 
to  be  pitied  and  loved  for  that  reason.  It  is  the  way 
of  the  world  unto  this  day  to  be  merciless  to  mis 
takes.  The  closest  ties  of  kindred  are  rent  apart 
because  one  or  another  does  that  which  in  itself  is  no 
moral  evil  or  apparent  wrong,  but  merely  unadvisable 
in  the  eyes  of  self-elected  judges.  Alienations  that 
make  life  a  long  regret,  and  add  an  enduring  sting  to 
death,  assail  us,  for  the  shadowy  reason  that  we  have 
mistaken  our  proper  path  in  life,  in  the  estimation  of 
those  who  should  have  shielded,  supported,  even 
loved  us  more,  because  we  needed  such  charity  more 
than  ever. 


NOT    DESTROYED.  413 

But  this  was  not  Philemon  Hall's  charity.  He  was 
too  like  his  Master  not  to  love  the  sheep  that  went 
astray  upon  the  dark  mountains  better  than  the 
ninety  and  nine  who  needed  less  his  affection  and 
his  care. 

Therefore  that  prayer  seemed  to  his  audience  some 
thing  almost  above  their  comprehension,  —  a  matter 
of  wonder  and  awe.  In  the  language  of  the  record, 
"They  judged  that  such  a  prayer  had  never  been 
made  in  that  house.  They  all  tarried  to  hear  what 
he  would  preach." 

Tears  rolled  down  many  a  sober  visage  as  that 
prayer  ended.  Esther's  face  glowed  with  love  and 
pride.  Never  before  had  she  known  the  depths  of 
Philemon  Hall's  heart ;  even  now  she  knew  not  — 
nor  did  he  —  how  his  satisfied  human  heart  had  given 
fervor  and  strength  to  his  spiritual  affections.  Never 
could  he  have  uttered  that  outpouring  of  brotherly 
love  with  such  ardent  honesty,  if  he  had  not  inwardly 
felt  the  blissful  consciousness  that  his  wife  at  last 
loved  him.  We  are  so  "bound  up  in  bundles,"  so 
interwoven  of  body,  soul,  and  spirit,  that  when  one 
string  of  the  harp  is  sounded,  the  others  vibrate  in 
unison,  and  it  is  our  dim  consciousness  of  this  that 
makes  us  rejoice  in  the  prospect  of  a  new  body  as 
well  as  a  redeemed  soul  when  the  "  day  of  the  Lord  " 
shall  arise. 

Then,  after  singing  a  psalm  of  the  Sternhold  and 
Hopkins  version,  a  general  stir  and  hush  pervaded 
the  congregation,  as  they  settled  themselves  to  hear 


414  STEADFAST. 

the  sermon.  No  one  thought  of  leaving  the  church. 
Parson  Dyer,  who  was  there,  in  the  front  pew,  took  a 
sonorous  pinch  of  snuff,  to  last  him  through  the  dis 
course,  and  many  another  elderly  man  followed  his 
example,  and  each  folded  his  red  and  yellow  handker 
chief  and  laid  it  over  his  crossed  knees,  to  be  ready 
for  an  emergency.  The  old  women  rubbed  their  spec 
tacles,  and  tucked  them  away  carefully  in  the  hymn- 
books.  Mothers  of  young  families  distributed  fragrant 
bunches  of  dried  "meetin'  seed"  among  their  flocks, 
and  settled  the  little  ones  further  on  to  the  high 
seats,  lest  they  should  fall  asleep  and  meet  the 
fate  of  Eutychus,  wearied  with  their  dangling  feet, 
idle  hands,  and  the  "  blessed  hum  "  of  the  preacher. 
But  all  was  quiet  as  Philemon  Hall  arose  in  his  tall 
pulpit,  and,  opening  the  Bible  before  him,  gave  out  as 
his  text,  "  For  necessity  is  laid  upon  me ;  yea,  woe  is 
unto  me,  if  I  preach  not  the  gospel." 

The  sermon,  like  most  of  that  day,  was  long ;  but  it 
did  not  seem  tedious  to  his  hearers.  It  had  no  refer 
ence  to  his  personal  trials  nor  to  his  future  inten 
tions  ;  he  only  dwelt  upon  the  importance  of  the 
Christian  ministry  to  the  salvation  of  the  world, 
and  the  stringent  obligation  that  was  laid  upon  eveiy 
man  who  made  that  ministry  his  profession  to  preach 
wherever  and  whenever  the  Lord  gave  him  opportun 
ity  and  strength,  to  the  end  that  no  living  human 
soul  should  be  lost  through  ignorance  of  the  way  of 
salvation. 

He  spoke  of  the  ministry  as  a  work  almost  too  aw- 


NOT    DESTROYED.  415 

fill  and  responsible  for  man  to  undertake  ;  one  that 
no  man  could  carry  on  without  the  instant  and  con 
tinual  help  of  God;  of  the  need  that  the  preacher 
should  live  so  uprightly  as  to  illustrate  the  Gospel  he 
made  known  to  man,  in  his  own  life,  as  far  as  human 
ity  could  portray  the  lineaments  of  the  Master ;  and 
then  in  the  most  earnest  and  fervent  manner  he  de 
scribed  the  joy  of  the  holy  calling ;  the  sweetness  of 
making  Clod's  love  and  mercy  and  fatherhood  known 
to  those  who  were  ignorant  of  him ;  the  peace  that 
came  to  the  preacher's  own  heart  in  offering  hope  to 
the  desperate,  and  consolation  to  the  afflicted;  in 
casting  the  glow  of  heavenly  day  down  into  the 
earthly  darkness  of  the  grave ;  and  most  did  he 
enlarge  on  the  rapture  of  the  shepherd,  who  per 
suades  wandering  Hocks  to  enter  the  fold  and  be 
at  home,  and  safe  for  time  and  eternity. 

All  these  considerations,  he  said,  made  it  the 
more  imperative  a  necessity  that  a  man  entering  the 
ministry  should  be  utterly  faithful  to  his  vows  in  so 
doing;  if  he  neglected  or  degraded  his  office  in  the 
eyes  of  God  or  man,  there  awaited  him  only  the  woes 
denounced  on  the  unfaithful  servant,  who  should  be 
cast  into  outer  darkness  where  there  was  wailing  and 
weeping  and  gnashing  of  teeth. 

This  is  but  a  skeleton  of  the  discourse  wrhich, 
clothed  upon  with  the  earnest  purpose,  the  deep 
feeling,  the  steadfast  faith,  and  eloquent  words  of 
Parson  Hall,  entranced  and  electrified  his  people. 
As  one  man,  they  felt  an  inward  conviction  that 


416  STEADFAST. 

no  human  authority  could  depose  from  the  ministry 
of  God,  a  man  so  fitted  by  grace  and  experience  for 
that  holy  calling. 

After  the  last  hymn  and  the  benediction,  a  crowd 
waited  at  the  door  to  shake  hands  with  the  parson. 

In  the  rigid  Sabbatarianism  of  New  England  they 
held  it  no  day  to  have  any  conversation  on  secular 
matters ;  but  the  most  punctilious  among  them  could 
see  no  harm  in  a  friendly  hand-clasp,  or  a  look  that 
warmed  Mr.  Hall's  heart  like  a  gleam  of  sunshine. 

Parson  Dyer  walked  home  with  Mr.  Hall  and 
Esther,  but  he  said  nothing  till  he  was  alone  in  the 
study  with  his  friend,  waiting  for  Esther  to  prepare 
their  simple  "nooning."  Then  he  turned  to  Phile 
mon  Hall. 

"  My  brother ! "  he  said,  with  a  deeply  moved  voice 
and  expression,  "I  rejoice  with  you  to-day.  Verily 
the  Lord  is  with  thee,  and  I  take  shame  to  myself 
that  ever  I  exhorted  you  to  follow  the  wisdom  of  this 
world  and  deny  Him  who  was  in  you,  both  to  will  and 
to  do.  Brother,  1  ask  your  forgiveness  with  the 
Lord's.  I  touched  the  Ark.  and  it  is  of  His  mercies 
that  I  am  not  consumed  ! " 

Philemon  Hall  grasped  his  friend's  hand  with  a 
clasp  of  warm  strength. 

'•'Brother  Dyer,"  he  answered,  "I  have  naught  to 
forgive ;  you  spake  unto  me  as  a  friend,  and  after  the 
light  that  was  granted  to  you  then ;  1  rejoice  and  am 
glad  that  you  are  come  to  see  that  I  was  not  willingly 
obstinate,  or  opionated,  but  only  desirous  with  all  iny 


NOT   DESTROYED.  417 

heart  to  do  the  will  of  the  Lord.  I  do  not  say  it  hath 
been  easy  or  pleasant  alway  to  follow  that  will ;  but 
He  helped  me,  having  set  my  hand  to  the  plough,  not 
to  look  back.  Yea,  though  a  host  should  rise  against 
me,  in  this  one  thing  to  be  confident,  that  I  was  about 
my  Lord's  business,  and  the  issues  of  life  were  with 
Him." 

"I  fear  there  are  yet  trials  before  you,  brother 
Hall,"  answered  Mr.  Dyer ;  "  but  you  know  in  whom 
you  have  believed,  and  there  can  no  worse  thing  hap 
pen  to  you  in  church  matters,  than  hath  already  be 
fallen.  Therefore,  in  His  name  I  say  unto  thee,  '  Go 
forward ! '  '  The  Lord  bless  thee  and  keep  thee  !  The 
Lord  make  his  face  to  shine  upon  thee,  and  be  gra 
cious  unto  thee  !  The  Lord  lift  up  his  countenance 
upon  thee,  and  give  thee  peace/  " 

And  Esther,  who  had  half-opened  the  door,  whis 
pered  to  herself,  "  Amen." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

LIFE. 

How  fresh,  O  Lord,  how  sweet  and  clean 
Are  thy  returns !  e'en  as  the  flowers  in  Spring, 

To  which,  beside  their  own  demean 
The  late  past  frosts  tributes  of  pleasure  bring. 
Grief  melts  away, 
Like  snow  in  May, 
As  if  there  were  no  such  cold  thing. 

"OuR  life,"  says  a  modern  philosopher,  "is  like 
March  weather,  savage  and  serene  in  one  hour." 

So  it  certainly  seemed  to  Philemon  Hall ;  the  ser 
vices  of  that  Sunday  when  in  meek  defiance  of  the 
Consociation  he  preached  in  his  own  church,  suddenly 
re-instated  him,  as  it  appeared,  in  the  former  love  and 
respect  of  his  people.  Parson  Dyer  came  down  again 
from  Hillside  farm  on  the  Monday,  early  in  the 
morning,  his  creaky  wagon  loaded  with  offerings 
from  Delia  and  Hiram.  A  great  basket  of  eggs,  a 
wooden  pail  of  June  butter ;  a  little  roasting  pig,  "  a 
weakling  and  a  flower,"  embedded  in  young  beet 
greens  ;  and  a  bag  of  meal  from  Hiram's  own  corn, 
ground  but  Saturday  at  the  Mountain  Mill. 

"  I  bring  you  some  creature  comforts,  Madam  Hall," 
said  Parson  Dyer,  with  an  odd  smile,  as  he  unloaded 
his  vehicle  at  the  door.  "  My  friend  and  housemates 
would  have  it,  in  their  simple  souls,  that  you  and 
Brother  Hall  were  like  to  starve  for  earthly  food 
418 


LIFE.  419 

since  the  Consociation  have  debarred  him  from  the 
table  of  the  Lord.  It  was  vain  for  me  to  remon 
strate  ;  their  kind  hearts  must  have  outlet ;  and  I 
trust  you  will  take  as  kindly  as  they  send." 

"Indeed  I  will,  Mr.  Dyer/'  said  Esther  with  a 
charming  smile.  "  'Tis  long  since  we  had  but  treacle 
to  our  bread ;  butter  will  be  indeed  a  lordly  dish  for 
us ;  and  I  have  killed  my  fowls  for  our  sustenance  as 
need  arose,  though  it  was  their  laying  time,  so  that 
eggs  are  also  a  rarity ;  and  my  meal  bin  is  well-nigh 
bare  at  bottom  !  " 

"  Say  you  so !  Why,  I  do  not  take  it  friendly  that 
you  did  not  come  to  me,  my  friend  !  Had  I  not  abun 
dance,  that  you  should  want  ?  " 

"  Nay,  sir ;  we  had  enough  for  our  need,  we  did 
not  go  hungry  ;  the  word  that  '  thy  bread  shall  be 
given  thee  and  thy  water  shall  be  sure '  was  fulfilled 
unto  us,  day  by  day ;  we  were  not  afraid." 

Parson  Dyer  looked  at  the  calm  beauty  of  Esther's 
face,  as  she  spoke,  and  thought  a  man  might  well  be 
gifted  with  endurance  when  such  a  comforter  stood 
by  his  side.  It  is  true  indeed  that  we  "walk  as 
strangers  " ;  never  would  he  or  any  other  know  the 
bitter  and  secret  grief  of  Philemon  Hall's  wedded 
life  up  to  the  hour  when  his  open  and  public  troubles 
culminated. 

"  Is  Brother  Hall  at  home  ?  ''  asked  the  parson. 

"  No ;  he  hath  gone  to  a  dying  woman  out  beyond 
Dog's  Misery  quite  a  way.  I  think  he  will  be  back 
to  dinner,  but  I  know  not ;  for  there  is  to  be  a  meet- 


420  STEADFAST. 

ing  of  the  church  this  afternoon  for  business  matters, 
and  he  said  he  would  rather  be  away  than  here ;  he 
wishes  not  to  make  nor  meddle  more  with  the  church 
affairs  ;  he  thinks  it  best  to  leave  all  to  them." 

"  He  is  a  wise  man,  madam,  but  since  I  also  belong 
in  the  parish  I  will  even  ask  a  bit  of  dinner  from  you 
and  remain." 

Esther  was  heartily  glad  to  entertain  her  old  friend, 
and  in  talking  of  past  days  the  hours  flew  by,  till  she 
was  surprised  to  see  how  near  noon-mark  it  was,  and 
left  him  to  prepare  her  frugal  dinner. 

Soon  after  the  meal  was  over,  the  clank  of  the  little 
bell  called  the  church  and  congregation  to  the  lecture 
room  which  was  in  the  basement. 

The  meeting  was  well  attended  by  the  men  of  the 
parish ;  in  those  days  it  was  not  thought  seemly  or 
decent  that  women  should  have  their  say  on  such 
occasions  :  their  talking  was  done  by  their  own  fire 
sides,  their  influence  exerted  in  their  own  homes  ; 
perhaps  both  were  as  weighty  and  powerful  as  if  they 
had  appeared  on  platforms  or  in  pulpits,  or  poured 
out  incoherent  and  meandering  prayers  in  the  church 
or  the  conference  room.  Certain  it  is  that  the  men  of 
those  days  held  Scripture  in  reverence,  and  suffered 
not  a  woman  to  teach  or  to  preach  in  the  churches. 

It  was  well  done  that  this  meeting  had  been  called 
while  the  enthusiasm  aroused  by  Parson  Hall's  prayer 
and  sermon  was  yet  fresh  and  active  in  the  minds  of 
his  hearers,  and  there  had  been  no  time  for  the  timid 
and  the  cautious  to  consider  the  pros  and  cons,  or  be 


LIFE.  421 

moved  by  an  afterthought  of  the  constituted  authori 
ties,  and  what  should  or  would  befall  the  luckless 
wight  who  defied  them.  Everybody  there  was  full  of 
zeal  and  admiration  for  Mr.  Hall ;  little  was  said,  but 
much  done  ;  it  was  resolved  and  unanimously  carried, 
that  his  arrears  of  salary  should  be  promptly  paid ; 
that  his  salary  itself  should  be  increased,  and  that 
they  would  stand  by  him  resolutely  if  he  would  go 
on  and  preach  to  them  as  before,  and  administer  the 
sacraments.  "  For  it  doth  not  appear  to  this  meet 
ing,"  rang  out  the  sonorous  voice  of  Parson  Dyer, 
"  that  our  minister,  Mr.  Hall,  hath  merited  the  action 
of  the  Consociation  in  any  manner.  Had  he  been  an 
open  and  headlong  sinner,  breaking  the  laws  of  God 
and  man  without  stint  or  repentance,  he  could  not 
have  been  more  than  deposed  and  excommunicated  as 
he  hath  been  merely  for  preaching  the  Gospel  to  a 
few  harmless  schismatics.  Therefore,  brethren,  let 
our  scribe  draw  out  two  copies  of  these  our  resolutions 
and  send  one  of  them  to  Mr.  Hall  and  another  unto 
the  Consociation  of  this  County  at  its  next  annual 
meeting." 

No  doubt  the  Consociation  received  the  document 
as  a  bundle  of  bitter  herbs,  but  they  made  no  sign. 

Parson  Hall  went  on  his  way  as  though  their  thun 
der  had  never  been  sounded  in  his  ears,  or  their 
bolts  levelled  at  his  head,  in  vain  endeavor  to  lay  it 
in  the  dust.  What  had  he  now  to  ask  for?  His 
people  were  united,  and  his  home  blessed  with  all 
that  makes  a  home  happy. 


422  STEADFAST. 

It  could  not  be  that  in  this  reversed  condition  of 
affairs,  Ammi  Hopkins  and  Tempy  would  refrain  from 
testifying  their  emotions ;  this  time  they  found  Mr. 
Hall  and  Esther  together.  Tempy,  bristling  and 
blooming  with  delight  entered,  however,  before  the 
deacon,  who  had  his  horse  to  tie,  his  reins  to  fasten, 
and  a  measure  of  oats  to  pour  into  the  nosebag  which 
he  had  provided  to  keep  his  restive  young  colt  quiet. 

"I  did  tell  Ammi  'twas  kind  of  forrard  to  come 
down,  right  off,  and  wish  ye  joy,"  she  began.  "  But 
he's  as  oneasy  as  a  fly  on  a  winder-pane,  when  he 
can't  get  his  spoon  into  other  folkses  messes  and  help 
to  stir  'em.  I  mean  to  take  an  interest  in  my  feller- 
critters  ;  some  on  'em,  that  is ;  but  I  don't  want  to 
poke  my  nose  through  the  crack  of  a  door  before  'tis 
opened.  However,  I  don't  b'lieve  you  will  begrutch 
seein'  of  me,  Easter,  for  you  know  past  doubtin',  that 
I've  always  set  by  you  a  sight ;  and  a  gladder  cretur 
than  I  was  when  I  heered  about  that  rneetin'  never 
was.  I  hope  them  folks  to  Consociation  will  hev  to 
eat  an  amazin'  big  cut  of  humble-pie  now,  and  see 
how  they  like  it." 

"Sister  Hopkins,  it  is  not  seemly  to  revile  digni 
ties,"  put  in  Mr.  Hall,  with  a  smile  that  meant  more 
than  his  words. 

"I  know  that,  Parson  Hall,  but  I  don't  call  'em 
dignities,  them  folks.  Why  they  haven't  got  dignity 
enough  amongst  'em  to  suit  a  hummin'  bird's  egg ! 
Ef  they  don't  want  to  be  reviled  they've  got  to  mend 
their  manners,  and  not  make  folks  that's  as  fur  above 


LIFE.  423 

'em  as  a  bean-pole's  above  cowcumber  vines  their 
music." 

"Dear  Tempy  !  let  them  go/'  said  Esther,  putting 
her  arm  about  Tempy's  shoulders.  "They  cannot 
trouble  Mr.  Hall  further ;  nor  me,  so  long  as  they 
leave  him  in  peace.  It  is  good  to  have  friends,  you 
dear  woman ;  and  it  is  good  to  forget  your  enemies." 

"  Can't  always  be  did,  though ;  not  as  long  as  natur' 
is  natur',"  obstinately  retorted  Ternpy. 

"Then  we  must  fall  back  on  grace,"  said  the 
parson. 

"  Grace  'tis  a  charmin'  sound !  "  squeaked  Ammi, 
who  had  heard  only  the  last  word  as  he  opened  the 
door.  "Yes,  yes,  we  need  grace,  lots  on't;  or  we 
sha'n't  never  get  to  glory  !  I  come  over,  Parson 
Hall,  to  sort  o'  hold  out  th'  olive-branch  so  to  speak, 
to  ye.  I  dono  as  you  call  to  mind  that  you  was  some 
flustered  last  time  I  see  ye.  I  s'pose  'tis  ag'inst 
natur'  to  enjoy  counsel  that  goes  contrairy  to  our  own 
idees.  Well,  faithful  is  the  wownds  of  a  friend,  par 
son.  I  felt  to  tell  ye  my  honest  mind  about  what 
you  done,  accordin'  as  brethring  should  do  one  to 
another." 

"  I  wonder  how  you'd  swaller  it,  Ammi  Hopkins, 
if  some  brethring  of  your'n  should  up  an'  tell  you 
their  'pinions  about  ye  !  "  interrupted  Tempy,  with  a 
snap. 

"  Mis'  Hopkins,  I  b'lieve  I'm  a  talkin'  now ;  women 
had  ought  to  keep  silent  and  learn,  the  'Postle  Poll 
ses." 


424  STEADFAST. 

"  Depends  some  on  who's  talkin'  "  muttered 
Tempy.  The  deacon  looked  at  her  with  an  irate 
and  matrimonial  eye,  but  he  went  on. 

"  Well,  parson,  I'm  glad  to  see  ye  kep'  up  your 
grit ;  and  I'm  proper  glad  to  see  your  folks  has  come 
round  to  ye,  and  paid  up  your  sellery ;  the  laborer's 
worthy  of  his  hire." 

"  When  you  hain't  got  to  pay  it,"  put  in  the  irre 
pressible  Tempy. 

"  And  I  come  down  from  Pickerin'  Centre  to  offer 
ye  the  right  hand  o'  fellership  and  say  I  should  be 
pleased  to  see  you  in  our  pulpit — that  is,  if  the 
Conso-shashun  lets  up  on  ye,  as  I  expect  it  will. 
You've  stuck  to  your  text  like  a  good  feller. 
Mabbe  you  rek'lect  I  said  amen  to  ye  after  all,  last 
time." 

The  parson  laughed. 

"  Shake  hands  now,  Deacon  Hopkins.  I  do  remem 
ber  that  you  bestowed  on  me  that  crumb  of  comfort 
when  I  was  in  sore  need." 

"You  come  'long  now,  Ammi;  'tis  as  good  to  let 
folks  alone  a  spell  as  'tis  to  cackle  to  'em.  You've 
done  enough  crowin'  for  to-day.  Easter,  you  blessed 
cretur',  good-by;  the  same  to  you,  parson.  Come, 
Ammi ! " 

The  deacon  glared  at  his  peremptory  wife,  but  fol 
lowed  her  with  repressed  wrath. 

Esther  turned  to  her  husband. 

"  Philemon,  you  surely  have  the  grace  of  patience 
unto  perfection." 


LIFE.  425 

"  I  learned  it  waiting  for  my  wife,"  he  answered, 
with  a  glint  of  mischief  in  his  tender  smile. 

There  was  no  more  trouble  now  lying  in  wait  for 
Esther  and  her  saint.  It  would  have  been  more 
accordant  with  poetic  justice  had  Philip  Kent  been 
seized  with  remorse  and  restored  to  Esther  the  prop 
erty  that  Uncle  Dyer  intended  she  should  inherit, 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  imagine  such  a  course  possi 
ble  ;  indeed  he  grew,  like  all  dissipated  men,  so  reck 
less  of  his  money  that  but  for  his  wife's  inheritance, 
which  was  carefully  secured  to  her,  he  would  have 
fallen  into  poverty  in  his  latter  years.  Esther  he 
saw  no  more;  neither  of  them  wished  it;  she  was 
happy  beyond  her  dreams  in  her  husband's  love ;  and 
the  comparative  poverty  of  a  country  parson's  wife 
she  had  long  been  used  to ;  riches  she  never  sighed 
for ;  being  content  and  dwelling  among  her  own  like 
the  Shunamite  matron  of  old. 

Mr.  Hall  went  on  his  way  steadily  and  serenely ; 
in  a  few  years  all  the  opposition  to  his  course  died  of 
its  own  futility,  and  he  was  formally  invited  to 
attend  the  Consociations  again.  Like  a  candid  and 
humble  Christian  he  took  his  place  once  more  among 
his  brethren,  gratefully  and  thankfully  ;  but  as  long 
as  he  lived,  his  church  showed  their  still-smouldering 
resentment  by  never  sending  a  delegate  with  him  to 
any  of  these  meetings. 

But  long  before  this  desirable  end  of  contention 
came  to  pass,  another  and  almost  as  great  a  blessing 
entered  the  quaint  old  parsonage  of  Trumbull.  The 


426  STEADFAST. 

year  following  after  his  excommunication,  and  the 
general  uprising  of  his  people  to  support  and  re-in 
state  him,  one  soft  June  evening  just  as  the  sun 
threw  its  last  rays  into  the  keeping-room,  Parson 
Hall  stood  beside  an  old-fashioned  wooden  cradle 
with  a  deep  light  in  his  eyes  and  a  wonderful  smile 
on  his  worn  countenance,  as  he  looked  down  at  the 
fair  child  that  lay  there  sleeping  with  the  calm  and 
regal  innocence  of  infancy,  a  white  drop  of  milk  yet 
resting  on  his  puckered  pink  mouth,  and  his  dimpled 
hands  clenched  as  if  he  would  still  hold  fast  to  his 
mother's  breast,  though  sleep  prevented ;  the  parson 
looked  across  to  his  wife,  pale  but  serene  in  her 
lovely  motherhood,  as  she  sat  with  one  hand  on  the 
cradle  and  her  eyes,  too,  fixed  on  her  child. 

"  Esther,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  well-nigh  time  the  child 
was  presented  for  baptism  ;  what  shall  be  his  name  ?  " 

"  There  can  be  but  one  Philemon  Hall  for  me,  my 
husband ;  yet  I  would  have  him  called  after  his 
father.  Let  his  name  be  Steadfast." 


ROSE  TERRY  COOKE'S  WORKS. 

SOMEBODY'S  NEIGHBORS. 

The  titles  of  the  stories  are  as  follows  : 

Eben  Jackson.  Amandar. 

Miss  Lucinda,  Polly  Mariner,  Tailoress. 

Dely's  Cow.  Uncle  Josh. 

Squire  Paine's  Conversion.  Poll  Jennings's  Heir. 

Miss  Beulah's  Bonnet.  Freedom  Wheeler's  Controversy 

Cal.  Culver  and  the  Devil.  with  Providence. 

Mrs.  Flint's  Married  Experience. 

"  A  bouquet  of  native  New-England  flowers  —  and  the  flowers  have  a 
peculiar  beuuty  and  fragrance,  too."— Hartford  Courant. 

"The  dialect  is  most  deliciously  correct  — a  collection  of  thoroughly 
delightful  tales  — an  acuteness  and  comprehension  which  is  simply  inimi 
table."— .Boston  Courier. 

"  More  than  400  pages,  covering  twelve  charming  idyllic  stories  of  New- 
England  life  and  manners,  showing  that  profound  insight  into  Puritan 
character,  and  that  remarkable  command  of  Yankee  dialect,  in  which 
Mrs.  Cooke  has  but  one  equal,  and  no  superior.  These  exquisite  chroni 
cles  of  the  hill-country  are  full  of  high  local  color,  pathos  and  piquancy, 
and  their  perusal  is  attended  with  alternate  tears  and  smiles.  Their  nar 
ration  is  vigorous  and  spirited,  sparkling  in  all  points,  and  outlined  with 
rare  dramatic  skill. 

"  Certainly  no  ordinary  novel  illustrates  a  greater  variety  of  types,  or 
illustrates  them  better,  than  this  single  group  of  short  stories  — less  than 
half  the  number  in  the  book  — and  in  no  recent  novel  of  New-England 
life  are  individuals  more  graphically  portrayed.  .  .  .  Truly  a  work  of  rare 
literary  excellence.  It  offers  even  to  novel  readers  a  larger  return  of 
interest  than  most  novels  do."— -Mew  York  Evening  Post. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers ;  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  $1.60,  by 
the  publishers, 

TICKNOR  &  CO.,   BOSTON. 


ROSE  TERRY  COOKE'S  WORKS. 

THE  SPHINX'S  CHILDREN 

AND  OTHER  PEOPLES'. 

1  vol.,  12mo $1.50. 

The  titles  of  the  stories  are  as  follows : 

The  Sphinx's  Children.  Too  Late. 

The  Deacon's  Week.  My   Thanksgiving. 

A  Black  Silk.  How  She  Found  Out. 

Jericho  Jim.  Ann  Potter's  Lesson. 

Lost  on  a  Railway.  Aceldama  Sparks. 

Doctor  Parker's  Patty.  Salathiel  Bump's  Stocking. 

Doom  and  Dan.  Sally  Parsons's  Duty. 

Some  Account  of  Thomas  A  Hard  Lesson. 

Tucker.  Liab's  First  Christmas. 
The  Forger's  Bride. 

"  The  short  stories  in  this  volume  are  of  the  very  essence  of  New  Eng 
land.  A  somewhat  fanciful  revery  lends  its  peculiar  title  to  the  book; 
but  the  'Other  Peoples' '  offspring  are  the  individual  product  of  the  soil, 
full  of  the  grit,  the  doggedness,  and  the  grim  humor  that  came  over  with 
our  grandparents'  furniture  in  the  Mayflower.  These  stories  are  the  fruit 
and  blossom  of  all  that  is  noblest  and  best  in  the  qualities  of  the  Puritan, 
and  it  may  be  that  their  appreciation—  though  not  their  beauty  or  their 
power  — will  be  restricted  by  reason  of  what  is  distinctive  and  individual 
about  them.  Surely  no  short  story  of  recent  years  has  surpassed  '  The 
Deacon's  Week  '  in  pathos,  in  artistic  truth,  in  the  inspiration  of  a  sub 
lime  and  noble  purpose.  It  would  seem  that  no  one  could  rise  from  its 
perusal  without  an  impulse  toward  kindness  and  charity  and  a  sense  of 
benefit  received.  Without  a  word  of  moralizing  or  tawdry  reflection,  it 
gives  the  same  lesson  that  is  practised  out  by  true  and  manly  conduct  and 
unselfishness.  And  all  the  time  the  perfection  of  the  picture  as  a  work  of 
art,  as  a  truthful  portrait  set  out  with  exquisite  literary  finish,  captures 
the  mind  and  entrances  the  imagination."— GEORGE  CARY  EGGLESTON, 
in  the  New-York  Commercial  Advertiser. 


For  sale  by  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 
the  publishers, 

TICKNOR  &  CO.,   BOSTON. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWS! 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall^ 


LD  21A-60'. 

•  LslO)476B 


General  Library     _ 
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Berkeley 


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